Crawlin about like a snail in the mud,

Covered wi clammy blae,

ME, made after the image o God -

Jings! but it,s laughable, tae.

 

Howkin awa neath a mountain o stane,

Gaspin for want o air,

The sweat makin streams doon my bare back-bane

And my knees aw hauckit and sair.

 

Strainin and cursin the hale sift through,

Half-starved, half-blin, half-mad;

And the gaffer he says, 'Less dirt in that coal

Or ye go up the pit, my lad!'

 

So I gie my life to the Nimmo squad

For eicht and fower a day;

Me! made after the image o God -

Jings! but it's laughable, tae.