It's so at any rate, I've always felt.

I've waited for my chance to come, whiles, but whiles I've made the chance mysel', as well.
It was after the most successful of the tours Mac and I got up together, one of those in Galloway, that I got a week in Birkenhead.
Anither artist was ill, and they just wired wad I come?
I was free at the time, and glad o' the siller to be made, for the offer was a gude one, so I just went.

That was firther south than I'd been yet; the audiences were English to the backbone wi' no Scots to speak of amang them.
No Scots, I say! But what audience ha' I e'er seen that didna hae its sprinklin' o' gude Scots?
I've sang in 'most every part o' the world, and always, frae somewhere i' the hoose, I'll hear a Scots voice callin' me by name.

Scots ha' made their way to every part o' the world, I'm knowin' the noo, and I'm sure of at least ane friend in any audience, hoo'ever new it be to me.
So, o' coorse, there were some Scots in that audience at Birkenhead.
But because in that Mersey town most of the crowd was sure to be English, wi' a sprinkling o' Irish, the management had suggested that I should leave out my Scottish favorites when I made up my list o' songs.

So I began wi' a sentimental ballad, went on wi' an English comic song, and finished with "Calligan-Call-Again," the very successful Irish song I had just added to my list.
Ye'Il ken, mebbe, if ye've heard me, that I can sing in English as good as the King's own when I've the mind to do it.