bill cobbett wrote:...that reminds me... My Beloved Fellow Forumers (and Zan) ! Please be upstanding and raise a dram on this Burnie Chap's Night for this special version of the.... National Anthem of Scotland ......
Oracle wrote:The lead singer sang to me personally ( I can't remember which song it was now ) Anyway, here's my favourite of theirs ... [youtube]http://youtube.com/watch?v=LOgEZbtg7dM[/youtube]
Oracle wrote:The lead singer sang to me personally ( I can't remember which song it was now ) Anyway, here's my favourite of theirs ... [youtube]http://youtube.com/watch?v=LOgEZbtg7dM[/youtube]
That memorable?
It was one of those (elongated) moments! We stared into each others' eyes, as he (Donny) sang to me, and the words from his lips were superfluous ....
Address To A Haggis Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o' the puddin-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o' a grace
As lang's my arm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o' need,
While thro' your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.
His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An' cut you up wi' ready sleight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like ony ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!
Then, horn for horn,
they stretch an' strive:
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve,
Are bent lyke drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
"Bethankit!" 'hums.
Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi' perfect sconner,
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?
Poor devil! see him ower his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro' bloody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!
But mark the Rustic, haggis fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread.
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll mak it whissle;
An' legs an' arms, an' heads will sned,
Like taps o' thrissle.
Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o' fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer,
Gie her a haggis!