Fit a loon
Ran the best pub in the toon
Bin faimily run for mony a year,
My brither-in-la wis born upstairs
Champion o’ the local folk
Fa’d sing o song
Or tell a joke.
A stop aff on the wye tae the game
He’d sell ye a fanzine tae tak hame.
And at night, fan it’s time tae close
Ye’d see him sweeping up the road
Picking up the mess folk drapped doon
On the pavement, on the groond.
Aye, he will be fairly missed,
Bit, nae doot we were a’ blessed
Tae hae the Lumpie as a hub.
A really special man, in a really special pub.