Dingle, dingle doozie,
Hoo he lauchs to see't
Whirlin' roun' an' up an' doon,
Frae his heid an' feet.
Keep his dumpy fingers in,
Dinna touch the lowe;
Dingle, dingle doozie,
Burn his curly pow.
What a spurlin' wi' his feet
An' hotchin' on my knee,
Divin' at the burnin' stick,
Then lookin' up at me;
No anither thing will please,
Though we turn the hoose,
Dingle, dingle doozie,
Burn the nose o' puss.
Pussie's wiser than the bairn,
Gies the stick a cuff,
Ruffles up her back an' tail,
An' starts to girn an' fuff;
Weel she kens what sparks will dae,
No like this wee man;
Gudesake, hoo did that come roun'?
There he's burn'd his han'.
Rin an' fetch his faither's stick
That nane gets but the wean;
Or mak' the big pat lid a girr,
An' birl't on the hearth-stane.
Nasty doozie! tak' the fire
For daurin' tae dae this;
Is his han'ie better noo,
Since mammy's gien't a kiss?
What are we but bairnies still,
Every way we turn?
Scram'lin' after lowin' sticks,
But to get a burn.
Bairnies sittin' saxty years
On mither life's braid knee,
Watchin' dingle doozies whirl
Roun' us till we dee.