Iss lovely summer weather at wur hevvin iss choost gran
For takin oot e bike an stravaigin ower e lan,
Wi rolled-up trooser leygs, an teeshirt, sandalled feet left bare,
Then heyd off lek e clappers doon e side-rodds for fresh air.

E main rodd's no sa pleasant wi cars tootin in yur ear,
Ah've had twa gluffs fey cocky chiels at drive richt up yur rear,
Then blast thur hoarns an overtake while laughin at e sicht
O "yin beeg wumman wobblin," ats me, near deyd wi fricht.

Boot turn off don e side rodds an ye enter rustic charm,
Fowk's mennurs cheynge by magic, an thurs no cause for alarm,
E tractor's gie a wide berth an e fairmur eye salutes,
Ids hivvin eftur persecution by yin speed-mad brutes.

E only thing at bothers me's e flees at buzz at nicht,
They slap intil yur feysse lek bullits an they hamper sicht,
Ye screw yur lids till stop them flechin' richt intil yur eyes,
Then canna see choost far ye are or far e coarner lies.

An if lek me ye cycle wi yur lippies wide apert,
Ye'll ken how'd feels fan wan flies in, id ver' near stops yur hert,
Ah swallowed twa e ithur nicht, e first chiel wiz okay,
boot seecid chiel hed been near coos by teyste o him ah'd say.