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Dear readers, please note that this poem is written in the Scots dialect. It may take a couple of reads to get the hang of it.

Council Rows

The lassies play skipping ropes.
The boys play fitba, jumpers for goalposts
in their worn oot bits
On the nerra cobblestone streets

The reek hings heavy
Fae the raw o’ lums
Along the alley.
There’s no a puff o’ wind.

The wains come in mawkit
At the end of the day.
Fae the skippin’
And the fitba

Their faithers come hame on Seturday nicht
Smeekit but in guid tid.
Who’s gaun tae deprive a coalminer
A wee dram when he’s no at work.

They caw them the guid auld days.