by Mike Grizaard This is the tale of wee Willie Angus McBride Who could nae gi' up smoking how e'er hard he tried This wee sleekit cow'ring tim'rous smoker Smoked so much that he got broker and broker He prayed the Lord the gift to gie him From slavery to tobacco fore'er to free him But in spite of mentioning it in his prayers Every morn he would have to buy his 20 Players His luv tho' like a red red rose that's newly sprung in June Threw him oot cos the stink of his clothes overpowered her perfume His Mam said "If ye carry on you're boon'd tae find Auld acquaintances 'll be forgot and ne'er brought tae mind If ye get too sick I worry we'll get into debt Cos we've nae got a National Health Service yet Of the warning on the packet will ye no take heed If you don't I'm afraid you'll soon be deed You'll be burning our own cottage thatch Will ye nae get a nicotine patch ?" Willie said "Mam, don't worry, you making a fuss'll Annoy me as much as a regulations from Brussels" One night he went to sleep with a fag in his hand It caught the bed aflame and they'd no bucket of sand. Well, the croft burnt doon, the brigade put oot the fire You could see the conflagration from the Mull of Kintyre His mates doon the tavern threatened a habit like this'll Lead tae a thick ear and a kick in the Partick Thistle They knew ye can tell a smoker by the smell that lingers And the ash doon the front and unsightly broon fingers He was phlegming and hoicking but put up with the banter But ye c'd hardly see him for the clouds roond his tam o' shanter For years he managed to stay alive But his lungs finally gave oot at 65 His mates could nae say they were wildly elated And in view of his habit thought he should be cremated They all regretted the fun they had poked But his whole body like a Finnie haddock was smoked The parson said what a fine fellow he'd been But the smoke up the chimney was pure nicotine It rose higher and higher and higher aloft The rumble that was heard was an angel that coughed So when you look up to the sky where the clouds abide Just gi' a wee thought to poor Willie Angus McBride So fare ye well, Willie Angus for the last time And let's tak a cup o' kindness for the sake of auld lang syne.
The end