ramblings and things

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Burns Night


They’re dancing round the Haggis

That bunch of skirted Jocks

With their wee little bonnets

And daggers stuck in their socks.

The Haggis hunt is over 

The wee sleekit beastie dead

“cos some dead eyed Scott

Shot it in the head

 It’d all skinned and boiled 

And resting on piles and heaps

Of parboiled skinless tatties

And half raw local neaps.

And the piper is in good breath

To pipe the little bugger in

Where it will be toasted with 

Single malt and Gordons gin.

They’ll dance the bloody sword dance

All feeling frisky and randy fresh

Having dined so royally on 

Wild wild Haggis flesh.

Oh they’re going mad in Jockland 

Drinking with all their might

Those bloody Jocks all get pissed

Every Rabbie Burns night.

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Burns Night