Classic Poem

We ha'e great folk — what for no?
In our lowland clachan;
Our tailor's an anointed king —
We carena for your laughin'.
Kings rare do gude, — but he's done some;
And for the rest, I'm thinking —
To tell the truth and shame the deil —
There's nae king like our ain king!

He has nae power to head or hang —
'Mang tyrants ne'er was rankit;
Deil ane o' soldier kind has he —
For that the Lord be thankit!
Nae courtiers bend around his knees,
Wha fast to Nick are sinking,
Wi' rotten hearts and leein' tongues —
There's nae king like our ain King!

The cash he spends is a' his ain,
He taks nae poor man's siller;
Ae douce gudewife's enough for him, —
He's kind and couthie till her.
The deil a penny debt has he —
Nor scarlet madams blinking —
He ne'er was by that slavery curst —
There's nae king like our ain King!

Fra bloody wars and ill-faur'd strife
His kingdom aye reposes,
Except when whiles the weans fa' out,
And make some bloody noses.
An syne the Tailor takes his taws
And paiks them round like winking:
Our King redeems the bloody pack —
There's nae king like our ain King!

His palace roof is made o' strae —
His crown is a blue bannet;
His sceptre is a pair o' sheers —
His queen is christen'd Janet.
He's nae oppressor — tears o' wae
He ne'er delights in drinking;
The first o' honest kings is he —
There's nae king like our ain King!