A poem about Kintore believed to be from the 1920s or 30s

Hae ye heard o' the latest, the terrible splore,
That took place in the Burgh o' Royal Kintore,
A nondescriptfunction was held in the hall,
The promoters described it a "Society Ball".

The hall was weel deckit wi curtains an' floors,
As neen was expected that'd ever been poor,
And grand Spoonatorium wi lounges for ease,
An' a carpet for gents gaen doon on their knees.

A beautiful evening, just the very thing,
The motors in dozens arrived in a ring.
Wi' widows an' mothers an' nieces an' aunts
An' men o' a ages dressed up tae the dunt.

Introductions were needless but still they were made
The "So pleased to meet you" were so sweetly said,
The ladies took stock o' each ithers goons,
Or what there was o' them, oh, my dinna froon.

The supper was served in Smiths own best style,
Hungry foilks werena winted, so it wisna worth while
Cooking dishes nae winted, on their hands they micht lie,
There wis little tae eat and ne'an tae lay bye.

The dancing next started, a very fine band
Served music the daintiest they could command,
For waltzes an' foxtrots an' new fashioned reels,
Made fowk rin aboot like half-witted eels.

The elite o' the place an' for thirty miles roon
Wis risket for partners tae come tae the toon.
There wis Smiths, Stills and Browns, an' three race o' Craigs
Bit ane wisna winted so gaed hame in a rage.

The "trades" an' "professions" a gota a chance
Tae come to the supper an' join in the dance
A few wis declined an' their reasons did state,
But fut wye did they miss oot Peter the Great.

An' Scrape hungry looking confessed to his wife
He never got sae little for 's siller in's life
An Liz fat an' brosy got varnish tae sheen
Her face till't resembled a double hairst meen.

An' Jemima The Ancient so sweetly paid toll
As she oxtert the bous in the swank hidie hole,
The sklavin wife Craig gaed the curtains a tug
Tae see if some feel wis on's knees on the rug.

And Chivas he coorted the matron foo weel
Atween you an' me he's rael like the deil
He couldna get danced cause he'd lost a glove,
Will some grey-haired widow find it for love?

And sweet Daisy tae dance joined wi some pairs
Nae kennin' that Sandy'd been drinkin upstairs,
When trying tae swing like the rest o' the fowk
Fell clyte on the fleer wi Sandy on top.

Rise up ye big sot, for I'm in a rage,
"I canna" said Sandy for I've nae ease o' my legs
O' dancing an' whisky I've had quite my fill,
I'm lying sae comfy, och Daisy lie still.

Come Sandy rise up for this winna dee,
It's nae ease said Sandy, so just lat me be,
But wi a big heave they got Sandy on's legs
And sweet Daisy fainted, nae winner my fegs.

The time for goodbyes cam roon wi a shock,
The cars were brocht roon about twa o' the clock,
A neighbour woke up an' nudged his guid wife,
Did ever you see sic a soon in her life.

Tae the nois o' big sprees we never gie heed,
Bit that wis a soon wid wauken the deid
I'll see futs adee an' he jumped oot o' bed,
And opening the window he popped oot his head,

Fits adee said the wife I'm wintin tae ken,
It's a puckle drunk fowk carrying oot two big men,
I dinna ken fither ther living' or deid,
Bit they're pitten them inta a car for Boghead

The "Lady Promoters" nae sympathy got,
They provided the stuffie that made the men sots,
But their kind hospitality wis thrown in their faces,
The ball wis nae success, but a perfect disgrace.

Noo stranger if ever ye loose yer wye hame,
And come tae a place ye canna gie name,
If it happen tae be on the nicht o' a spree,
And the fowk a' drunk, YE'VE LAN'T IN KINTORE.