Ye're no light where lean a'.
Ye're no worth ca'in oot o a kail-yaird.
Ye're like the minister o Balie, preachin for selly.
Ye're like the Kilbarchan calves-like best tae drink wi the wisp in yer mou.
Ye're like the lambs-ye dae naething but sook an wag yer tail.
Ye're like the man that socht his horse, an him on its back.
Ye're like the miller's dog--ye lick your lips ere the pock be opened.
Ye're like the miller's dug-ye lick yer lips or the pock be opened.
Ye're like Macfarlane's geese - ye hae mair mind o yer play than yer maet.
Ye're like me, an I'm nae smaa drink.
Ye're like Piper Bennet's bitch-ye lick till ye burst.
Ye're like the cooper aa Fogo, ye drive aff better girs than ye caa on.
Ye're like the corbie messenger-ye come wi naither alms nor answer.
Ye're like the cou-cowper o Swinton, ye'll no slocken.
Ye're like the deid fowk o Earlstoun-no tae lippen tae.
Ye're like the dug o Dodhaa, baith dooble an twa-faced.
Ye're like the dugs o Dunraggit-ye winna bark unless ye hae yer hinder end tae the waa.
Ye're like the hens ye rin aye to the heap.
Ye're come o bluid, an sae's a puddin.
Ye're like laird Moodie's greyhoonds-unco hungry like aboot the pootch lids.
Ye're Davy-dae-little an guid for naething.
Ye're fear'd for the day ye never saw.
Ye're fit for coorse kintra wark-ye're raither strang than handsome.
Ye're good enough but ye're no braw enough.
Ye're guid tae be sent for sorrow.