Heids In The Sand

If ye gyang doon near the seashore
An hae a look aa ower the land
Ye’ll see a fyow fowk’s erses
Cos their heids are beerit in sand

Noo tryin ti hae conversation
Wi a backside is nae quite right
As fit cums oot o erses
Is usually a heap o’ shite

They beery their heids fer a reason
So they dinna the truth hae ti hear
If they canna listen ti fit ithers say
They think they’ve nithin ti fear

The next fyow verses’ll tell ye
Aa aboot fowk faa beery their heids
They think the warld owes them a livin
They’re nae responsible fer their deeds

“Nae use my car sae often?
Gweedness me!! An snakes alive
If aa hiv ti git a carton o milk
I need ti be able ti drive”

“Dinna use planes sae afen yer sayin?
Iss surely jist canna be
Use trains an buses fin ye can?
Na! Na! I really maun flee”

“Dinna spend if ye dinna hae till?
Its ma siller, I’ll dee fit I wint !!
In fact I’ll use aa ma credit cards
Until a’m bliddy weel skint”

“Noo hud on ma mannie” they shout
“I’m away back doon ti the sand”
So fin ye see their erses stickin up
Jist gie them skelp wi yer hand