Gi'e a wean his parritch,
An' dinna spare the sour-douk can,
An' wi' a bawbee carritch,
I'll mak your son a man!

In days o' yore when I was young,
We learn'd to read our mither tongue,
An' mony raps wi' rape and rung,
We gat to mind our carritch.

New-fangled schules hae ither laws,
Wi' mony English hums an' haws,
But leeze me on a bunch o' taws,
An' a bawbee carritch.

A rousin' pawmie on the loof
Will waken up a sleepy coof,
An' gaur him gie ye scripture proof
For a' the single carritch.

Your wee toun getts, sae glib an' sma',
They winna stand a yerk ava,
So a' my scholars rin awa'
Frae my taws an' carritch.

An' guess ye what the deelies did?
They brunt my taws, my wig they hid,
Syne lap upon the bunker lid,
And danced upon the carritch.

Yet what for need I make my mane,
Sin' thae auld times are lang bygane,
Let's hope the days will come again
When weans will mind their carritch.