Maist every Monday evenin’ I gae headin’ south by train,
And early Friday mornin’ I’m at Waverley again.
Aye, I’m thirled tae the sleepers — and of late there’s been a change:
The brand new travellin’ bedroom is tae me a wee thing strange.
Noo it’s all hygienic plastic — but they’ve made an awfu’ botch.
For it hisna got a potty or a place to hang your watch.
I dinna like the Shuttle: they treat ye a’ like sheep:
I canna use the buses though I’m told they’re fine and cheap
I much prefer tae spend the night relaxin’ in a train
Ye snib the door, an’ there ye are, just quietly on yer ain,
Or gaither a frien’ or two tae hae a wee debauch.
And yet — there’s no a potty or a place to hang your watch.
In yon auld, shoogly sleepers I’ve been bobbin’ like a cork.
I could tell the bridge at Selby or the points just north of York,
I could hear yon noisy rattle on the bridge across the Tyne.
But noo …. the sole disturbance is the air-conditioner’s whine.
Ye still get Schweppes’s water tae dilute your glass of Scotch,
But ye dinna get a potty or a place tae hang your watch.