The poem
When I was young and Scottish I Allergic was to spending; I put a heap of bawbees by, But now my life is ending, Although I would my hoarded pelf Impetuously scatter, Each day I live I find myself Financially fatter.
Though all the market I might buy, There's nothing to my needing; I only have one bed to lie, One mouth for feeding. So what's the good of all that dough Accumulating daily? I should have spent it long ago In living gaily.
So take my tip, my prudent friend, Without misgiving; Don't guard your fortune to the end, But blow it living. Better on bubbly be it spent, And chorus cuties, Than pay it to the Government For damned Death Duties.