Crawlin about like a snail in the mud,
Covered wi clammy blae,
ME, made after the image o' God -
Jings! but it's laughable, tae.

Howkin awa neath a mountain o' stane,
Gaspin for want o air,
The sweat makin streams doon my bare back-bane
And my knees aw hauckit and sair.

Strainin and cursin the hale shift through,
Half-starved, half-blin, half-mad;
And the gaffer he says, 'Less dirt in that coal
Or ye go up the pit, my lad!'

So I gie my life to the Nimmo squad
For eicht and fower a day;
Me! made after the image o' God -
Jings! but it's laughable, tae.