Glaikit! Love all the Scots words that come out. Saw wheesht the other day as well. Which reminds me of whisht lads had yer gobs and I try to think how much of the Lambton worm
I remember.
One Sunday dawn young Lambton went
Sad-fishing' on twit-eer;
And catched some slop upon his hook,
He thought looked rather queer.
What kind of frozen fish it was
Young Lambton couldn't tell.
He was far too BUSY to carry it hyem,
So he hoyed it down a well.
SHAN'T! Lads, shut your gobs,
I'll tell yous all an awful story
SHAN'T! Lads, shut your gobs,
I'll tell yous aboot the slop.
Now Lambton felt inclined to go
And see his second or third home
he joined a group of blue ticks who
ignored quarantine to roam
And off he went to Edinburgh
Celery armies he did fell,
And very soon forgot about
The strange slop in the well.
But the slop got big and growed and' growed
And growed an awful size;
With great big teeth, a great big gob,
And great big goggle eyes.
And when at night he crawled about
To kick you in the shins
If he felt hungry upon the road,
He'd eat livers from Jack's bin
Illustrations alone cannot do justice to the epic battle, which I'm told ended with Lambton's noble steed finishing the beast, declaring "never again shall you demean me in your quest for a lasagna sauce"