Loch Lomond

Loch Lomond

Dat shy an' quiet gal,
Loch Lomond,
Loch Lomond,
She dodges me every time
I come in Ole Belly's car.
I come in Ole Belly's car,
To wuk fu 'is cottage.

Ole Belly's got a cottage
Around dat bend of de road
Dat runs opposite St. Martin's
And hides in de depth of trees.

Every time I pass Loch Lomond,
I see de road sign only,
And catch a glimpse of her water,
Soft as emerald gauze.

Ole Belly never stops dere.
He stops at de airpor' gas,
To be waited by a stout lady
With toast, bacon and eggs.

He stops dere fu breakfast
As late as eleven o'clock,
And reads de Zeller's ad,
And draws a list of buys.

Den we hurry to his cottage
Messy as an age-old sty.
Dere we dust an' paint an' sweep,
Smelling de shit of mice.

Den we sit in 'is stinky car
Full of sticky rusty pennies
To go shopping in de village store
He holding 'is falling pants.

One day we passed Loch Lomond.
"It's a pretty name, " I said.
"It sounds like a Chinese word
That means 'romantic dreams'."

Old Belly laughed like a lobster,
'cause he no knew words Chinese.
The beautiful sound of "Lomond,"
Was fiddle played to cows.

Weekend o'er, we tired and go home
Sometimes in a melancholy rain.
I can't afford no sleep in de car,
'Cause I wanna see her again.

 

Aug. 17, 1998