THE METER BEATER

Well Blantyre is a funny wee place, wae aw it’s different folks,
There’s people there who’d put Oxford and Cambridge to shame,
They’ve pulled so many strokes.
But there’s wan wee man I’ll always remember,
When he came to read the meter
Wae his wee long coat and bunnet,
We only knew him as the “METER BEATER”.

Now there was the dreaded time every quarter, in the household year,
When they came to read yer meter,”OH” and why was it so dear,
But if you knew the “METER BEATER” he’d fill yer heart with cheer,
Cause he was there the day before the meter man,
Tae turn it back fur the year.

Whether you were gas or electric he always had a way,
Always making sure he fixed it, so ye did’nae hift tae pay,
Now this wee man, he wis great, but only if he wis sober,
Fur if he got the numbers wrang in June,
You’d be living like October,
Sittin wae the heatin oan and windae’s open at full mast,
Sweat runnin aff ye, cause he’d turned it back too fast.

There wis wan wee wummin who got caught,
Oh’ whit a cryin shame.
Her light wis cut aff fur a fortnight,
As her family cooried ’roon a flame.
Now everybody in that scheme they were all the same,
But nae’body would admit tae it, because of the dreaded shame.

Now I wonder if ye remember that wee man, fur he was always there,
Turning back yer meters and making sure life was fair,
Fur if the local constabulary, or the powers above,
Ever thought aboot capturing him,
He‘d still be sloppin oot noo, and eating prison grub.

Jimmy Whelan (copyright) 2009

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