The lyrics here are
based on ideas contained in George Abel's 19th Century poem 'Humour',
and were composed by John Henderson on the 30th of November,
2009, to be sung to Rose and Conrad's tune for the song, 'Barney
Short Musical Introduction ....
Ye shudna think it wrang
tae lauch, Tae see
the fun o' things, Fur mirth it is a med-i-cine Tae peer fowk an tae kings. Mony say thit hich abeen the lift Thit the fires o' eemur play, An thit Gweed Himsel' raxed doon some coal Tae cheer oor mortal day.
Lood guffaws fae thunner, Thit aye gar the rafters dirl, The waster-win's gyte dyzies, Fan it's oot upo the birl. Wee roy't kittlins oan the hearth, Lamikins aa ow'r the leas, Doagies oot-playin 'tackie' Wi wil rubbits roon the trees.
Fae faar micht sich be
comin ? Hivven's
aumries' skelfs I thinks. Gin we wur syne mair glegsome, We wid see the wirms gien winks! Sense o' eemur we hiv tee, Bit nae aye fur aa tae see, Sae-gif beasts shaw fair-gowpenfus, Mair nor backets shid shaw we.
Losh it's a needcessity Mang aa scaums abeen the sods; We need it as oor hames' lums Maun aye hiv thur lichtnin-rods. Ay sae mony freenships wid aa flee awa; Daily pleesures wid tak sich affa-lik
dings, 'Cept fur 'lichts',
thit shair fesh
Bittie fun in aa us an things.
******************************************** HUMOUR by George Abel
Dinna think it wrang to
lauch, To see the
fun o' things, For
mirth, it is a medicine To peer fowk an' to kings.
They say that far abeen
the lift The fires
o' humour play,
That God Himsel' raxed doon some quiles To cheer oor mortal day.
I hear the thunner's
lood guffa, That
gars the rafters dirl, I watch the aul' wind's idelty, When oot upo' the birl.
The wee roy't kittlins
un the hearth,
The lammies on the lea, The doggies at their tackie games, The monkeys on the tree
Far can the craturs get
it a'? Heaven's
aumrie gies 't I think: War we but gleg I'm sure we'd see The vera wirmies wink.
But fawvour't man has
mair than a' O'
humour in his e'e; The beasts, they get a gowpenfu' ; An oxterfu' has he.
He needs it, for there's
mony whisks An'
scaums abeen the sod ; He needs it, as the tourin' lum Maun hae its lichtnin'-rod.
There's mony freenships
wid be smash 't,
An' mony joys tak' wings, But for the licht by which we see The fun o' fowk an' things.
So we will gie oor
thanks an eke, For
sel's an' for the race, An' pray that Gweed sen' doon galore Kind humour's savin' grace.
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