The Bubbly-Jock

I've feasted late an' I've feasted early – 
Nae scrimpit meals for the turkey-cock –
But I jalouse they've begunked me fairly,
A weird to dree has the bubbly-jock.

I've fattened sae that my sides are hingin',
A wee thing mair an' I couldna walk;
Noo a voice o' doom in my lug is ringin';
"When'll we kill the bubbly-jock?"

Sae that's the wey o' it! Yuletide's comin'.
Haverin' hypocrites, hear them talk –
Peace an' guidwill to men an' women –
But thraw the neck o' the bubbly-jock!

I've fleyed the hens an' the jucks richt rudely,
Frichtit the grumphie frae his brock,
Ruled the roost like a king gey proodly –
A dooncome this for the bubbly-jock!

I've garred the tinkler's weans rin greetin',
Gi'ed the gangerels mony a shock:
Watch-dougs wouldna be killed for eatin' –
Why the de'il should a bubbly-jock?

Man's ingratitude! Noo they've catched me!
Gi'e me smeddum to thole this shock!
Waesome day when my mither hatched me!
Here's fareweel to the bubbly-jock!'

by W. D. Cocker.

December poem of the month was chosen by the Scottish Poetry Library. Permission to reproduce was kindly given by Brown, Son & Ferguson Ltd, Glasgow.

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