One far the Scots in eh hoose

The Gingers

Wee ginger tam; he’s a teeny sma’ man; wi a fag in his gub; an a phone in his han’; far callin’ his missus; wi curses an kisses; who’s nursing a sprog; wi a dug an a mog; an twa bairns that’s driving her crazy.

Bairn number one is also a ginger; filching the biscuits and thinks he’s a ninja. Lobing them all at bairn number two — his wee sister Genie; who’s also a teeny; and right noo she’s stranglin’ the cat.

Noo, far those of you who dinnafe-ken; wee Timmy’s the sprog wi the boob in his gob; while his mammy sits ticklin’ his toes. She swallys the Bru, like there’s nuthin’ to do but sit there and drink all the ginger.

Noo you ken tae a Scot ‘ginger’ means quite a lot. Oor nature ye ken, tae make twenty frae ten — it keeps yee’s all oan yer toes!”

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This entry was posted in Fiction, Independence, IndyRef, Introspection, Ramblings, Saltire, Scottish, Writing. Bookmark the permalink.

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