Eany meany miney mo,
Which pitheid’s the next tae go?
Every day tae feed the mouth,
The hungry miner journeys South.
For empty bellies none can thole,
Or twenty thousand on the dole.
A man’s a man, the poet said,
But not unless he has his bread;
And even then, by bread alone,
A man can’t live – and that’s well known.
Tae have his meat, that’s what he needs,
So pack the trunks and aff tae Leeds;
For where there’s muck there’s brass they say,
And dear auld Scotland’s had its day.
Awa wi kilts and dirks and kings,
We’re thinkin noo o ither things;
Its aff wi the auld and on wi the new,
That’s what we’ll aa hae to do;
And mak for the England o oor dreams,
Whaur Scotsmen play for English teams.