for those of you holding a Burns Supper or indeed just savoring some of the ‘Chieftain o’ the Puddin race’, here’s a little ditty that I suspect The Bard didn’t write…but may have
TAE A FART
Oh whit a sleekit horrible beastie
Lurks in yer belly efter the feastie
Jist as ye sit doon among yer kin
There sterts tae stir an enormous win'
The neeps 'n tatties 'n mushy peas
Stert workin' like a gentle breeze
But soon the puddin' wi' the sauncie face
Will hae ye blawin' a' ower the place
Nae maiter whit the hell ye dae
A'bodys gonnae hiv tae pay
Even if ye try tae stifle
Its like a bullet oot a rifle
Haw'd yer bum ticht tae the chair
Tae try an' stop the leakin' air
Shifty yersel' fae cheek tae cheek
Pray tae God it disnae reek
But aw yer efforts go assunder
Oot it comes like a clap o' thunder
Ricochets aroon the room
Michty me a sonic boom
God almichty it fairly reeks
Hope a huvnae sh't ma breeks
Tae the bog a better scurry
Aw whit the hell its not ma wurry
A'body roon aboot me chokin'
Wan or twa are nearly bokin'
A'll feel better for a while
Cannae help but raise a smil
Wis him! A shout wi' accusin' glower
Alas too late, he's jist keeled ower
Ye dirty b'gger they shout and stare
A dinnae feel welcome ony mair
Where e'er ye be let yer wind gang free
Sounds like jist the job fur me
Whit a fuss at Rabbie's party
Ower the sake
O' wan wee farty ..................
