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A Scotsman's Luck ©

by H Marshall
Scotland

There's nuthin' wurse fur a Scotsman
than the wind blawin' up his kilt!
When he's tunin' up his bagpipes
an' the drones they wull'nae lilt.

There's nuthin' wurse fur a Scotsman
than a wind-blawn Tam o' Shanter.
Or when the sand blaws doon his drones
an' scraichs oot o' his chanter.

There's nuthin' wurse fur a Scotsman
His braw plaid droukit by weather.
Or when he tramples o'er the knowes
His knees get tickled by heather.

There's nuthin' wurse fur a Scotsman,
tho' Heather's a bonnie lassie.
He better watch oot who's keekin'
Fur her faither's awfy fashie.

There's nuthin' wurse fur a Scotsman
than a hive o' bumblebees.
The damage is done under the kilt
When they get up past his knees.

There's nuthin' wurse fur a Scotsman
than nae spurtle tae stir his stew.
The only thing he's got tae use
is a rusty skean dhu.

There's nuthin' wurse fur a Scotsman
than some movement in his haggis.
When rummagin' wi' his cromach
he finds it fu' o' maggots.

There's nuthin' wurse fur a Scotsman
than half a flea in his whisky.
Should he swallie the rest o' it,
or is that much too risky?

There's nuthin' wurse fur a Scotsman
when he dances the Highland Fling.
His bum gets chaffed wi' the tartan
an' his sporran's violent swing.

There's nuthin' wurse fur a Scotsman
than a thievin' gaberlunzie,
Who robs him o' his auld claymore
an' his fav'rit whigmeleerie.

There's nuthin' wurse fur a Scotsman
than be called a stupit gowk.
Wi' wan swipe o' his philabeg,
baith yer eyes he will howk!

There's nuthin' wurse fur a Scotsman
than list'nin' tae clishmaclaver.
Or bickerin' carles an' dolts,
an' folk who stand an' haver.

There's nuthin' wurse fur a Scotsman
than a fish supper fu' o' grease.
Or when he gans tae England
And they serve him mushie peas.

There's nuthin' wurse fur a Scotsman
than a clartie coffin shroud.
Wrap him in his family plaid
an' bury him real proud!


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