When cronies meet aroon the tee,
The roarin' game's the game for me,
Owre ither games it bears the gree;
Then leeze me on the Curlin'.
It brings the red bluid tae the broo,
Ye canna weel be doon o' moo,
When bluid yer veins gangs coorsin' thro',
When at the game o' Curlin'.
Gin ye wad please yer worthy skip,
Stan' firm in natch an' dinna slip,
Direct yer stane straucht frae the hip,
When ye are at the Curlin'.
An' if he wants't a wee bit looder,
Jist draw yer stane richt tae the shooder,
Or he will say ye hae'na pooder,
For the manly game o' Curlin'.
Gin ye expect tae win the cup,
On besoms ye maun haud the grup,
An' aye be there tae soop it up,
When ye are at the Curlin'.
An' when ye're at the soopin' game
Min' an' soop afore the stane,
Or ye've nae yin but yersel' tae blame
If shots ye lose at Curlin'.
Here, Lords an' Dukes wi' Rab an' Tam
Meet as equals, man tae man;
A heazer tae the social plan
Is the guid auld game o' Curlin'.