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(Try to put your best Scottish accent on when reading this one)



Disguarded fae the workplace, rusted red distorted frame.
Mangled handles reachin' oot like a wee disguarded bairn.
Were ye pushed aroon' a factory,heavin' loads or liftin' grain.
Old wheelbarrow, a ponder fae whit walk o' life ye came.


Old wheelbarrow, a ponder fae whit walk o' life ye came.
Wer' ye wheeled aroon' all day in the snaw an' wind an' rain.
Yer tyre treed is bare noo an' has seen far better days.
You've been a mate tae many wi' the heevy loads you've raised.


Yer bolts an' axles aches an' pains are a burden o' yer past.
Manufactured in the 60s an' for sure wir built tae last.
After all yer toil an' efforts,the flickers gone noo fae yer flame.
Old wheelbarrow, a ponder fae whit walk o' life ye came.


Old wheelbarrow,a ponder fae whit walk o' life ye came.
Did you carry sand or rubble, did ye muck oot on the fairm?
Yer buckets lying twisted like a face that's had a batterin'.
As the rain hits aff your rusty hinge, i hear a pitter-patterin'.



Ye look like you've been there a while,as yon weeds make ye their home.
Wi' yer pal lyin' there down at yer side ,old flattened traffic cone.
Old wheelbarrow, a ponder fae whit walk o' life you came.
Your future's no' too bright but we all can say the same.


'Cause oor country's in a rut right noo and it's all hands to the pumps.
The pension age has risen and we're all doon in the dumps.
Old wheelbarrow i ponder,will i fix up yer old frame?
And work ye till you drop (again!) It's oor Governments main aim.





                 (Well done,good ascent! Pour yourself a wee whisky,now)

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