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Sense O' Eemur

[Sense of Humour]

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 Google'.

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.

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.

Return to John's Poetry Page


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