Maist fowks ken thit Santa in his sled,
Aye veesits fan the weans are soond in bed?
He bids Rudolf Rynedeer flee ow'r snaw,
An' stap at guid bairns' lums, faar he'll aft caa,
"Noo Rudolph ye bide quait, fyle I ging see,
Gif thur is soot stack in thase fowk's chimbley;
Yon maks me sneeze sae ye'll hiv tae hease
Ow'r tae me ma birse-breem an' ma dungarees."
Sae ma freens fan ilk Yeel time weers oan,
Be shair tae caa the sweep upoan the 'phone;
An' bid him nae maitter gif he's thrang,
Thit ye'd be fair plees'd gif, he'd come alang;
Fur the laist thing ye weesh oan yer Yeel Day,
Is muck an' dist doon fae, yer ain chimbley;
An' bleck fitstaps oan the flair, bit warst,
Santa Claus' dungarees left tee tae waash !
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