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