“BUBLY JOCK, YOUR MOTHER’S A WITCH
AND A’ YOUR WEANS ARE WARLOCKS.”

YOU miserable miser bitch,
Sin’ ye ha’e made me use the switch,
I mean to gie you sic a twitch,
Athwart the hurdies,
Ye’ll wish ye had a thicker breech
Upon your sturdies.

Your conduct weel deserves satire,
Frae end to end o’ braid Kintyre,
For ye’ve been poutrin’ in the mire
Full forty years:
An how ye’re than your maister higher
The people speirs.

Ye aye ha’e been on mischief bent,
Sin’ up amang the crews ye went,
To grind the poor and rise the rent
O’ mony a farm:
The deil his aid has surely lent
To plot sic harm.

A hundred cotter-bodies poor,
Ye caused to turn outside the door:
And for to make their ruin sure,
Ye tax’d the peats,
Quist, dried and drawn frae moss and moor
Wi’ toilsome sweats,

The very wreck, by tempest driven
Upon the shore of Skerrie’s Riven-
A blessing sent the poor by Heaven-
Ye e’en must tax,
And a’ to Kelp-contractors given,
To swal your packs.

How many folks ha’e ye brak doun ?
That’s seen this day in Campbeltoun
Wi’ runty auld nags crawling roun
To win their bread,
An shov’d some lousy Lallan loon
Right owre their head,

Fy ! BUBLY JOCK ! fu’ weel we ken
(When ye was laird o’ Bucky Glen)
How ye came by the but and hen
Of Gowan Bank,
And kept somebody in your den
Till he was crank.

But a’ that e’er was said or sung,
Or cramm’d in folks heads to the bung,
Completely in the shade is flung,
JOCK, by your loups,
When ye contrived to save the d–g
Frae bodie’s doups.

The auld Town-Council interfer’d;
And dang the biggings that ye rear’d.
For every honest body fear’d
Some plague or trouble:
Aud oh ! but ye was unco sweart
To burst the Bubble.

A hantal mair I ken abont you,
But honest language winna suit you;
The Duke himsel’ began to doot you-
Now-did he not ?
And sairly, man, aboot it put you,
When he sent S—tt.

Now, BUBLY JOCK ! tak my advice,
Your dealins’ ha’e na been sae nice,
Altho’ ye hear a Judas twice
Upon a Sunday,
Auld Nick can grip you in a trice
Upon the Monday.

BUBLY JOCK, YOUR MOTHER’S A WITCH
AND A’ YOUR WEANS (children)  ARE WARLOCKS.”

YOU miserable miser bitch,
Sin’ (since) ye (you) ha’e (have) made me use the switch (instrument to beat people with),
I mean to gie you sic (such) a twitch,
Athwart (on) the hurdies (backside, bum, buttocks)
Ye’ll wish ye had a thicker breech (trouser material) 
Upon your sturdies (legs).

Your conduct weel (well) deserves satire,
Frae (From) end to end o’ braid (across the whole) Kintyre,
For ye’ve been poutrin’ (fannying about, messing about) in the mire (mud)
Full forty years:
An (and) how ye’re (you are)  than your maister (master) higher
The people speirs (ask)

Ye aye (always)  ha’e (have) been on mischief bent (intent), 
Sin’ (since) up amang (among) the crews ye (you) went,
To grind the poor and rise the rent
O’ mony (of many) a farm:
The deil (devil) his aid has surely lent
To plot sic (such) harm.

A hundred cotter-bodies (cottage dwellers) poor,
Ye (you) caused to turn outside the door:
And for to make their ruin sure,
Ye tax’d (taxed) the peats,
Quist (Worn away) dried and drawn frae (from) moss and moor
Wi’ (with) toilsome sweats,

The very wreck, by tempest (storm) driven
Upon the shore of Skerrie’s Riven-
A blessing sent the poor by Heaven-
Ye e’en (even) must tax,
And a’ (also) to Kelp-contractors given,
To swal (swell) your packs.

How many folks ha’e ye brak doun (broken down)? 
That’s seen this day in Campbeltoun
Wi’ (with) runty (small) auld (old) nags crawling roun (round)
To win their bread,
An shov’d (shoved) some lousy Lallan loon (awful lowland crazy person)
Right owre (over) their head,

Fy ! BUBLY JOCK ! fu’ weel we ken (for well we know)
(When ye was laird o’ Bucky Glen)
How ye came by the but and hen (cottage) 
Of Gowan Bank,
And kept somebody in your den
Till he was crank (unwell or unstable). 

But a’ (all) that e’er (ever) was said or sung,
Or cramm’d in folks heads to the bung (top)
Completely in the shade is flung,
JOCK, by your loups (leaps, movements)
When ye (you) contrived to save the d–g (dung?))
Frae (from) bodie’s (everybody’s) doups (bum, buttocks)

The auld (old) Town-Council interfer’d;
And dang (damned)  the biggings (buildings) that ye rear’d.
For every honest body fear’d
Some plague or trouble:
Aud oh ! but ye was unco sweart (very reluctant)
To burst the Bubble.

A hantal mair (a lot more) I ken (know) abont (about))you,
But honest language winna (wouldnt) suit you;
The Duke himsel’ began to doot (doubt) you-
Now-did he not ?
And sairly (sorely) man, aboot it put you,
When he sent S—tt.

Now, BUBLY JOCK ! tak (take) my advice,
Your dealins’ (dealings) ha’e na (have not) been sae (so) nice,
Altho’ ye (although you) hear a Judas twice
Upon a Sunday,
Auld Nick (the devil) can grip you in a trice
Upon the Monday.