THOCHT POLIS

Tha Flet-Earth Societie is still gaun strang
The meet a-Wensdays, gin A’m no wrang.
“Whit ir the’ at?” ye micht weel say,
“A thocht thon boys had had their day”.

Professors, Civil Sarvints tae,
Whuniver they thegither play,
The’ lach an rage at oor belief,
Tae ocht we say the’ stie stane-deef.

Tha mair we houl tha warl is roon,
An big eneuch aa tongues tae soon,
An let iz leeve in oor ain wie,
They cannae thole sich DIY.

Whut ither shape micht their warl be?
It maun be flet, it’s plain tae see.
Fur iv’ry thing haes jist twa sides,
An oor bit’s jist whaur blethers bides.

Tha Flet-Earth yins is colour-blin,
Aa’s blak or white, thair case daes rin.
An sae the caa’d a big debate,
An booked a haw, shud it rin late.

Tha motion brocht afore tha hoose:
Whit bes a rebbit? – Cat or Moose?
But deil a haet o that wus lairnt,
An sae tae bigger beece they turn’t.

The’ thocht that if debatin kye,
Tha Ulstèr-Scotch wud rise an try
An argy if a coo wus broon,
Sae maun their ain wee warl be roon.

But no sae daft tae faa fur that,
Tha Ullans crew jist set thair hat,
An haein mine o their wee game,
Sez, “Fresian kye – whit colour’s them?”



An sae tha Flettie Men gaen bak,
An thocht, “ We’ll hae tae say the’r blak”,
“An whan tha ithers say, ‘The’r white’,
“We’ll up an at them on the night”.

Tha truth, o coorse, it’s plain tae see,
Baith blak an white aa Fresians be.
But tell that tae tha Flet-Earth boys?
Get set fur war, an fear nae noise!