Aw thi’ Ayrshire kye,
are Out because it’s dry.
Eatin aw the grass,
Cause they are top class.
Wi there big pink udders,
They jingle, jangle, an judder.
Aw thur cauves,
Stop ti tak a pause,
Or tak a wee snooze,
Ti cover up the moos.
An once thy wake up,
They’ll eat some buttercup.
An then go oot ti play,
Instead A eatin hay.
Aw thi coos are asleep,
no even a wee peep.
But run here comes the fairmer,
Full ti the brim wi booze,
He trips ower his laces,
An ends up wi a bruise.
