Writers

 Whit a cerry on, whit a bloomin fuss 

Aw the man hid deen, wis drive a country bus

She'd popped on ivery mornin' - on her wey tae work

He'd gien her mony smiles, an must hae hit the mark

For it wisna' very long - before they hid a date

He only wantit fun - she wis lookin' for a mate

Noo here he wis wi scarlet face an suit an fancy tie

Staunan at his reception, he gave a muckle sigh

This nivir should hae happened, he'd been a happy chiel

He wished it wis aw ower, but there wis still the meal

Oh, no, he'd clean forgotten, he'd hiv tae mak a speech

Tae thank thir freens and praise his bride, say she wis sic a peach

If only he had listened tae the wisdom o' his ma

An' steyed a single fella  - the same wey as his da'

He'd be staunan at the bar, wi a whisky in his han'

Laughin at the bridegroom, thinkin "whit a stupid man"

Och weel it's aw too late noo, it will aw be ower real soon

He'll mak' his speech, eat his meal and go on honeymoon

Nae mair fitba', fishin' - or pubbin wi his mates

It'll be TV, wool windin' - and paintin' fence and gates

Still there wid be some pleasures, a warmer bed at night

A kiss an mony a cuddle and even the odd wee fight

The mair he thoocht upon it - the better it aw looked

Three cheers for his bride, he wis gled that he got hooked

They'd soon aw be dancin, an hoochin like mad

Gettin' merrit at sixty - it wisna a' that bad!

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