OOR TAM
Oor Tam has joined the Templars
His sportin’ days are dune;
He disna fash his noddle noo
Whit horse shall rin an’ win.
The bookies noo may go to France –
He’s become a reg’lar swell,
The bobs he used to gie to them
He keeps them noo himsel’.
His midnight sprees are endit noo,
An’ the doctors’ soothin’ pills;
He’s slippit clear o’ Clootie’s claws
An’ a host o’ other ills.
Wi’ the bookie an’ the publican
The cash he used to spend,
He tak’s it to the Savings Bank,
An’ gets a dividend.
