Big, reakin’, crowded, tedious beast ye,
Oh wit a panic when thy see ye,
Nae time tae wait an tak the next yin,
A helluva battle,
Weel a’ cram in til doors we’re breakin’
An’ little folk trample.

I’m truly sorry man’s mistreatment,
Has brought ye ere such rank appearance,
And justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes me bauk’it,
At ye, ma trusty transportation,
And public toilet!

A doubt na, whyles, that thou art late,
But then poor metro thou maun brave,
The dreakit, mockit tunnels there,
Below Paree,
A’m no sae keen tae gae lang there,
On hans n knees!

Thyne big bit stations oft in ruin,
Fae Chatalet tae Mairie D’Issy,
An nae sign ne’er they’ll big nae new anes,
Tae shelter thee,
As bleak Decembers winds ensuin’
Come sans-abris!

Still we art blest, it seems tae me,
Tae huv a friend sae kind as thee.
And as i backward cast my e’e,
It’s fair tae say,
Without ye, traipsing roon Paree,
Is where a’d be!