Nae butter, milk or breed, nae chicken fur a feed,
The Co-ops shelves unwelcome, white an’ bare,
Nae tatties, peas or cheese, nae bolognaise tae freeze,
Last week’s scraps have gone an’ we’ve nae mair.
The heatin’s oan the blink, the bath’s a wee ice rink
The garden’s looking like an Arctic roll.
The landin’s like a slide, ah’ve done the palais glide
Skited doon upoan ma ‘Nat King Cole’.
The leccy fire is crocked, and someone’s gone an’ knocked
Oor winter quilt frae aff the washin’ line
Nae coppers, lead or brass, nae shillin fur the gas
‘The future’s bright!’ But sadly it’s no’ mine.
The thaw will soon arrive, tae keep us a’ alive
And so tae work we tae can soon go back
We’ve missed oor’ bosses smiles, we love oor ‘pending’ files’
Except fur me! Last week Ah got the sack.
So in oor polar room, we’re contemplating doom
An icy hand ah feel upon ma soul
Ah turn wae fear tae see, the reaper temptin’ me
Wae square sliced in a well-fired Morton’s roll.
But every cloud has got, as we have a’ been taught
A silver lining neath its darkened skin,
Ah grab him by the neck, we wrestle tae the deck,
Wae two falls, wan submission an’ Ah win!
Not everything is lost, for though interred wae frost,
Ah’m wan o’ them whose spirits huv been buoyed,
Fur Ah kin stay at hame, the government’s tae blame
Their policies huv made me unemployed.
Ah smile at my good luck, nae slush or sheugh or muck
Tae freeze ma feet, an’ cause ma death of cold
Jist me her an’ the dug, tae cuddle oan the rug,
At least we would but sadly it’s been sold.
Like Scott an’ Captain Oates, we’re huddled in oor coats
We’d better stick together an’ be brave
For though the pipes may burst, an’ Jack Frost dae his worst…
The dug jist fits intae the microwave!