A doon-an-oot. A wino.
Her face wis minkit.
Lord, she stank tae High Heaven
Tart's nails, beetroot reid,
Braith, sickly sweet,
Fit scaffie's bin
Forgot tae pit the tin Lid on her?

I tell ye
I hid tae move ma seat.
The state o' yon,
Sittin in an Art Gallery!
Some fowk's nae sense o decency.

She's nae alane.
Van Gogh gaed doon the drain
Abody liked him ... postumously,
Fame's a funny thing.

Me? Fit wis I there fur?
Tae see the picturs, naturally
Hogarth wisna on view.
His "Gin Lane" 's maist affecting,
An yon chiel, Degas, hard tae beat,
Peintit an absinthe drinker
Sae real, ye'd nearly greet.

Fit happened tae the wino?
Yer surely nae in doot?
Realism's best ahin a glaiss,
Nae face tae face.
They pit her oot.