Brummils (Brambles: Scots)

The hett buss touers wi brummils It's lood wi the bizzin o bees Ma swyty hauns haud a jeely jar Stapped wi their blaik sweetness Ma fingers an moo are stained poorple Like Caesar's toga efter Brutus stabbed him The ferm lane's a steer O nettles, dockens, wabs an mochs Mabairn-shanks are scrattit bi brummles' cleuks Twa scabs on ma knees, gotten frae skytin on sharn The brummils are blaik as jet Blaik as the beads on granminnie's velvet choker The brummles' leaves are etten an chittered bi gollachs (Brummles are free, for ony that sikk tae pu them) A girselowper clacks in the sheugh Abune her, a wheeplin mavis A solo yalla yeitie I bite a brummle-it wummles Like a nesty begeck in a soup bowl A wirm in its mids, on ma tongue