(With apologies to Rabbie Burns)

O Irn‑Bru, thou bonnie brew,
Wi’ fiery hue o’ molten dew,
Thy tang sae sharp, thy sweetness keen,
Nae mortal drink has matchin’ been.

When mornin’s heid is dull an’ sair,
An’ life’s a muckle load tae bear,
Thou lifts the weary frae their doom,
An’ gars the bleary soul tae bloom.

Some praise the wine o’ foreign vine,
Some boast o’ ales or English swine,
But gie me Bru, the Scotsman’s grace,
A spark o’ sun in winter’s face.

Thy colour glows like gloamin’s blaze,
Thy bubbles dance like Hogmanay’s,
An’ though nae soul kens whit thou art,
Thou warms the cockles o’ the heart.

Sae here’s tae thee, oor nation’s pride,
Frae Highland glen tae Forth’s far tide;
Lang may thy bonnie bottle shine,
A toast tae Scotland’s lifeblood fine.