In the monkey hoose, a gibbon, orang-ootang, an baboon,
War sociably flechin, fin a veesitor walked roon
A scientist. He claiked aboot the origins o man
On reets an evolution ... foo humanity began ...

"Div I unnerstaun yon aiblich his the crass temerity
Tae makk oot he's a relation? Weel, he isna sib tae me!"
Quo the gibbon, fair affrontit, as she scrattit the baboon;
"Wi half the warld starvin, he pits rockets tae the moon!
He's the ethics o a vulture, he's the mainners o a hog,
Gin ye dinna share his politics, he'll sheet ye like a dog!
His warmth is mainly nuclear ... or wippit roan a pylon
He canna grow a coat; it maun be wool, or flax, or nylon
Fin a baby gibbon's girny, it gets liftit fur a sook
Far a man-bairn gets a bottle, syne, it's stappit in a neuk
An his customs matrimonial — ye really wid suppose
That insteid o roon the finger, that the ring gied through the nose!"

The gibbon paused, an cocked its tail.
The flechs began tae lowp.
The neebour apes, compassionately, picked them frae her dowp.
"As fur Darwin, an his theory, an the entire human race,"
(said the gibbon, in conclusion,)
"Faith, they're better aff in space!"