Starchy white coats an’ furrowed brows Are badges of the past Running shoes and T’shirts Are t’days uniform of choice | {Ironed white coats and knitted eyebrows} |
Whey spectacled eyes an’ razor knifes They introduce the inside of the body To the outside an’ then, Whey tender hauns, artistic fingers They rite whits ill to mak’ it whole | {With eyeglasses and sharp knifes the body is opened}
{With skilled hands whatever is wrong is corrected} |
Applause ther is but none And thanks a sleep time away But, tonight, with cleir heid, applauding hauns, Joyful hert an’ tearful eyes We say ‘Doctors,’ ‘thank you’ | {Nobody to applaud their work} {Patient is asleep}
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Alternate verses | |
Cancers, bellyaches, bairns are but one The heid, if still fixed oan, are treated Nae wee drams fir the doakters nerves But libraries of knowledge in silicon chips That travel from the heid to the hauns an’ mouth | {All ills are treated} {Including head trauma} {No liquor for doctors} {Info on ipods and computers} {That the brain guides and verbally describes} |
An then yer captured by Nightingale’s army Who cajole, threaten, an’ wi compassion bully ye’ To kick ye’ oot the door tae recover at hame Wher the doakter does visit before the sun Tae check yer health an‘ ask how yer sleeeping | {Nurses and aids take over your recovery to discharge you home}
{The doctors visit early in the morning to check} |
