by Gregor Steele

We crie her Mrs Nae Offence,

That's whit she like tae say,

Afore sayin somethin awfy,

Then heidin on her way.

Nae offence, but see yon skirt ye bocht?

It maks ye look richt fat,

Nae offence, ye're like a standard lamp,

When ye wear yir new blue hat,

Nae offence, but see yir perfume,

She whitters like a doo,

It minds me o thae yellae cubes,

Ye get in a laddie's loo,

Nae offence but see yir hairdo?

Ye must hae been a mug,

Tae fork oot twenty quid fur that,

Ye look like a Pekinese dug,

It fell upon ma Grannie,

Tae pit her in her place,

Gran skelped her wi a brollie, sayin,

Nae offence but shut yir face.

© Gregor Steele

Gregor Steele is a member of Clyde Valley Writers. This poem was included in the Blethertoun Braes book, published by Itchy-Coo.