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Elphinstone Kist   Maakers, Family & Home, History

The Humble Tattie     by: Middleton, Ian

Noo, some nicht fin yer idle, an ye’ve nithing else t’ dee,
Jist ponder on the tattie, and its versatility,
for it’s been a staple diet throu a history-byeuk o waars,
an it’s blessed wi mair equations than a chokit, kist-o-draa’ers!
Tatties for yer braakfist, yer denner an yer tay,
there’s nithing wrang wi tatties at ony time o day,
ca them spud, or potato, or even pomme-de-terre,
a diet’s nae a diet unless the humble tattie’s there!

There’s battered eens, buttered eens, biled an barbecued,
chippit eens an chappit eens, tho I’ve nivver tried them stewed!
There’s stovies an there’s shepherds’ pie, tae gar yer belly sag,
an even in a pyokie wi a wee blue bag!
fried eens, frittered eens, an some that hae a been,
gye ill-pared eens wi half-a-dizzen een,
bakit lads, cakit lads, an some wi jackets, tee,
an if yer wife’s lik mine, ye’ll hae tatties throu the bree!

There’s pink eens, an yalla eens, an reed, fite an blue,
an files ye’ll get a mongrel o a questionable hue,
fresh eens, frozen eens, an tatties big an sma,
an some that, fin ye hole them, ye get nithing there bit sha!
mealy lads, an soapy lads, an some that’s in-atween,
late lads for liftin fin the early eens are deen,
aul wizzent sprootit eens t’ gie the soo a feed,
an a’ the little tottems that are keepit back for seed!

There’s Golden Wonder, Craigneil, as weel as Sharp’s Express,
an poothert ains caa’ed “Smash” that they ait in ooter-space,
an thin skinned Cypress eens t’ get ye throu the spring
an muckle sappy English eens ye gye near need t’ wring!
There’s lang lads roon lads, an kidney shaped as weel,
an ither lads turnin green wi stickin oot the dreel,
canary eens, an hairy eens, an some that’s black wi blight,
an ivery een the better o a twa three load o dung!!

There’s Kerr’s Pink, British Queen, as weel as Duke o York
An ither brands fit for maakin piggies intae pork,
An noo there’s Great British eens the market for t’ tak,
An ithers that are champion for soup t’ keep ye swaak!
An here’s t’ the tattie, an lang may they swaal,
Herrin wi the new eens, an size wi the aul,
The workin man’s caviare, steamin fae the pot,
There’s nae a veg that’s growin, bit the tattie beats the lot!

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