Classic Poem

F AE the Back o' Beyont the carlie cam',
He fittit it a' the wye;
The hooses were few, an' the road was lang,
Nae winner the man was dry —
He was covered wi' stoor fae head to heel,
He 'd a drooth 'at ye couldna buy,
But aye he sang as he leggit alang
" The Back o' Beyont is dry."

He'd a score o' heather-fed wethers to sell,
An' twa or three scrunts o' kye,
An unbroken cowt to niffer or coup,
A peck o' neep seed to buy;
But never a price would the crater mak',
The dealers got " No" nor " Ay,"
Till they tittit the tow, he 'd dae naething but sough
" The Back o' Beyont is dry."

I' the year o' short corn he dee'd o' drooth,
But they waked him weel upbye,
'Twas a drink or a dram to the cronies that cam',
Or baith an' they cared to try.
When the wag-at-the-wa' had the wee han' at twa
Ye shoulda jist heard the cry,
As the corp in the bed gied a warsle an' said
" The Back o' Beyont is dry."

Fae Foggyloan to the Brig o' Potarch,
An' sooth by the Glen o' Dye.
Fae the Buck o' the Cabrach thro' Midmar,
Whaurever your tryst may lie;
At ilka toll on the weary road
There 's a piece an a dram forbye,
Gin ye show them your groat, an' say laich i' your throat
" The Back o' Beyont is dry."

" The Back o' Beyont is dry,
The Back o' Beyont is dry,
To slocken a drooth can never be wrang,
Sae help yoursel' an' pass it alang,
The Back o' Beyont is dry."