Oul Wullie John McAllister was drivin’ home one night
In that oul skip he calls a car, that’s yellow, blue and white;
His bold wee collie, Bob, was lyin’ sleepin’ in the back,
When two young peelers pulled him in to do a routine check.
‘Good evening, sir,’ the first one said. ‘Now, sir, is this your car?’
‘I’d like tay think so,’ Wullie smiled, ‘been in it this last hour.
If I’d been out tay steal a car, in your opinion, miss,
D’ye no’ think I’d have got meself a better yin than this?’
Of course the polis pulled him in; they felt they had no option,
For Wullie John’s car was, to all, a funny oul contraption;
He’d change the bits that wore out, be they bonnet, wheel or door,
With new parts that looked nothing like the ones he’d had before!
So, they looked it up and down and read the discs and documents,
Then shook their heads, for what they saw made not one ounce of sense,
As, once they’d checked it out, the police could very quickly see
To their amazement, Wullie’s car had passed its M.O.T!
‘Now, may I see your licence, sir?’ the young policewoman asked
And, once again, in every detail, Wullie John soon passed;
Not one endorsement had he got, in fifty years of drivin’,
‘Now let me on,’ oul Wullie snapped. ‘Enough o’ this connivin’!’
‘Your licence, sir, is fine,’ she said, ‘so, we’ll not keep you back,
But this wee collie dog of yours has no tag round his neck;
Now, does he have a licence, sir? He must have one, you see.’
‘No need,’ he said, ‘Bob just leaves all the drivin’ up tay me!’
© Robert E. Wilson.