Orkney Beef

By George Corrigall

Thirs many an Orkney farmer in a happy mood tonight,
We’re happy for we know the world at last has seen the light,
The housewife and the scienctist have voiced the firm belief,
That milk is owerweel for bairns, but grown up must have beef,
Enlightened people everywhere, proclaim what they enjoy,
Its beef for every man and woman, every girl and boy,
The British diner nooadays no longer hums and haas,
Its beef he wants and beef he’ll have, tae champ atween his jaas,
For beef’s the stuff that keeps the human race fae gan adrift,
At five and six a pound its cheap, infact its just a gift,
The bullock is wir emblem noo, he’s Orkney’s guiding star,
Because we know its Orkney beef, that made us what we are.

The dairy fermer nooadays is badly aff indeed,
He knows that he’s producing milk the nation doesna’ need,
He has no hert tae squeeze his wife and whisper, ‘I love you’,
He’s far too busy squeezan at the udder o’ a coo.
At social do’s he canna dance, he’s fain tae sit and sulk,
Because his wind is geen tae bruck wi drinkan dairy milk,
Poor chap, I doot he’ll never live tae life’s alloted span,
Unless he comes tae realise hid’s beef that maks the man,
But beef producers like mesael are certain o’ a trade,
And wir plannan hoo wir gan tae spend wir fortune, when hid’s made,
We’ll drive aroond in Humber Snipes and smoke a fat cigar,
And tell the world hid’s Orkney beef that’s made us whit we are.

Noo lads, I’ll tell you right away, wir lippenin you tae dance,
So grab yer lass and take the floor, yir only young but wance,
And you can squeeze her leesome form, as roon the floor you whiz,
And don’t forget it’s Orkney beef, that made her what she is,
And when we come tae pairt, I hope you lads’ll play the game,
And link yer sweethearts airm in yirs and see the lassie hame,
And when you bid a fond farewell yi’ll kiss yir dear wee dear,
And tell her that it’s Orkney beef, that maks yir heart sincere,
For beef has made us what we are, a strong contented race,
Too wise to try and reach the moon by rocketing through space,
The Yankees and the Russians’ll feenish lord knows whar,
But we’ll stay home and raise the beef, that made us what we are.