Class-conscious we are...

To Dickson's surprise Dougal seemed to be in good spirits. He began to sing to a hymn tune a strange ditty.

Class-conscious we are, and class-conscious wull be

Till our fit´s on the neck o' the Boorjoyzee.

'What on earth are you singing?' Dickson inquired.

Dougal grinned. 'Wee Jaikie went to a Socialist Sunday School last winter because he heard they were for fechtin' battles. Ay, and they telled him he was to jine a thing called an International, and Jaikie thought it was a fitba' club. But when he fund out there was no magic lantern or swaree at Christmas he gie'd it the chuck. They learned him a heap o' queer songs. That's one.'

'What does the last word mean?'

'I don't ken. Jaikie thought it was some kind of a draigon.'