Wha wadna join the Force,
   And wish to be Inspector;
We've the Provost at our back,
   And Law for our protector;
We've Mr. Linton for our chief,
   Maist worthy Superintendent,
And if we get a broken,
   A Surgeon gude for mendin't.

The Army may be weel eneuch,
   And aiblins the Navy;
But thae daft chiels, the volunteers,
   What could they dae to save ye?
Just look at us in uniform,
   We're handsomer and bigger,
Every man selected for
   His elegance of figure!

Whene'er we see a bonnie lass,
   Our duty 'tis to guard her;
And it's our privilege to inspect
   What she has in the larder!
Sae a' the lasses after us
   Are looking, on our beat, sirs,
And mak' us welcome when we like
   To baith our meat and drink, sirs.

How gran' to march down Princes Street
   In afternoons on duty!
The observed o' a' observers there,
   O' fashion and o' beauty!
In a' the private streets and squares
   O' favours nane are chary,
In ilka area welcome is
   The Toun Constabulary.

If there's a crowd upon the street,
   What is the need to hurry?
Just let folk see you're coming up,
   And off they're sure to scurry.
Tho' if it be some gents on spree,
   That's the time for action;
But try to mak', and no' to crack,
   A crown, by the transaction!

A dirty job, we whiles tak' up
   Amang the public-hooses,
To see that they keep proper hours;
   For this ye sair abuse us.
But law is law, and mair than a',
   There should be nae evasion,
Altho' the way may no' be nice
   To fin' out the occasion.

It's often sair against the grain,
   That we lodge information,
For aye we're welcome to a glass,
   When sich our inclination -
But then, ye see, teetotallers
   Hae little toleration,
And dinna ken the meanin' o'
   The term "moderation".

I gaed last night to call upon
   A friend I hae in service,
And for the first time in my life
   I felt a wee thing nervous.
But cook and me got unco chief,
   And weel I was regalin',
When the mistress she came down the stair,
   Into the kitchen sailin'.

"Jane," says she, "what's this I see?"
   "Please, mem, it is my cousin."
"How many cousins have you, Jane?"
   This makes about a dozen!"
I banged up quick, and soucht the door,
   On purpose to escape her,
But got a clyte, and brak' my nose
   By fa'in' ower the scraper.

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Copyright © 2001, Jack Campin