Lazarus rose to the daylight from the depths of a lonely tomb,
His hair looked lank and greasy, unkempt, in need of a comb,
His beard, festooned with cobwebs, banked to his account that day
by an irritated, old woman spider hoping to relax and lay
an uncountable number of offspring in the masses of hirsute growth,
But a voice piercing the darkness put the kybosh on that, my oath.
“Where the divil are yeh, Lazaaarus, hidin’ awy outa sight,
Mekin’ me trip on me goatskin, stumblin’ abaht in the night,
There’s a call fer yeh on the landline somewhere oot in the mist,
I’d foller it yeh can be sartin if I warn’t so thoroughly pi**ed.
I was winnin’ me darlin’ over, yes I was, had me hand on her hair
Ee legs on her went on forever, oi was fergettin’ meself in them bails,
When some git has to ring me phone loike, and ast why yer not answerin’ his caylls.
I’m milkin’ me cows raight noo, mon. Ken I get ‘im to ring yer right back,
But in a voice that told me clearly I’d be better to get onya track,
Oi tell yer man, as yer brother and kinsman, and by the name of the laird and all
That was one very oopset Sassenach awaitin yer presence; so call
the mon back direckly! Yeh, oi knaw that yer hoongry and unshaved
oi think the mon will not care much if he finds out yer teeth hain’t been laved.
Jus’ call him, his voice was quite peeved. E reminded me somewhat of Barney
From the corner pub goin’ to Leeds where the Sassenachs drink all through summer
An’ study their football disasters…where’s the man gone? Sleepin’ agin, gorblimey!
Lazaarus! Come forth! (Wot git yells that in the middle of an afternoon?!!)
[Just fooling around]