Hah, not very likely. That outfit would give the old Friday night Bingo ladies I know the feckin dreh boak, so it would. Did that sound Scotch?
Mart
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Aye Marvin, that sounded pure Scotch. As in you've drank too much of it, at least you're leaving some of your frags alone tonight eh? Feckin is west coast, dreh is east coast, or more specifically Dundee/Dundeh, the land o' jute 'n' jam, pehs and the Arabs. Did ye ken that marmalade was invented in Dundeh by the way? So wis taxin, but we'll leave that for a later date, just in case you ever make a visit with some nice shiny razors, jist let us ken when if ye dinnae mind. So here we hae oorsell a wee mash-up oh dialects, but crikey me an jings crivens help ma boab, we've firgit all aboot the loons n quines tae the north, fit wi their roonaboots an aw, ach well, theyre jist the same as oor neebs tae the sooth, maest o them cannae read onyways, sae nithin tae be feared of. An them that can read the words winnae be wastin there time on this pile o piss, maer important things tae dae, like shaggin sheep an the like, ken fit I mean loon?
Just for you Marvin, one of my favourite poems
The Wild Geese, by Violet Jacob
Oh tell me what was on your road, ye roarin' norlan' Wind,
As ye cam' blawin' frae the land (that's) niver frae my mind?
My feet they traivel England, but I'm deein' for the north.
My man, I heard the siller tides rin up the Firth o Forthâ€
Aye, Wind, I ken them weel eneuch, and fine they fa' and rise,
And fain I'd feel the creepin' mist on yonder shore that lies,
But tell me, ere ye passed them by, what saw ye on the way?
My man, I rocked the rovin' gulls that sail abune the Tay.
But saw ye naething, leein' Wind, afore ye cam' to Fife?
There's muckle lyin' ‘yont the Tay (that's) mair to me nor life.
My man, I swept the Angus braes ye ha'ena trod for years.
O Wind, forgi'e a hameless loon that canna see for tears!
And far abune the Angus straths I saw the wild geese flee,
A lang, lang skein o' beatin' wings wi' their heids towards the sea,
And aye their cryin' voices trailed ahint them on the air –
O Wind, hae maircy, haud yer whisht, for I daurna listen mair!
Now if that's no a massive thread derailment then ah dinnae ken fit is?