'Oh wad some power the Giftie gie us,To see oursel as ithers see us.'
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Robert Burns.
Come minstrels, come singers, come revellers all,
Come drinkers, come diners, come dancers, stand tall,
Come jokers, come jesters, come meek, come the proud,
Come long-winded talkers, come speakers aloud,
Come wise, come the foolish, come poets, come bards,
Come children, come aged, come lasses and lads,
Come witches, come warlocks, come priests ringin' bells
Come saints, angels, sinners, a Tale I must tell
Thus it was a crowd gathered in that great crownless jewel,
Edinburgh, Scotland, place of powerless rule,
An Assembly uncertain through twisting and turns,
25th of month one, t'was the night of the Burns.
The fire was desired, the fuel set to catch
But in all of the people seems none had a match
And a silence descended like dust on the crowd
To be raised on the wind as one man spoke aloud.
Charles Darwin, said he, wrote the Origin of Species,
Explained diverse Life, mammals, plants, birds and fishes,
The ants and the termites, the beetle, the bee,
The sharks and the squids and the whales o' the sea,
The stoat'n'the weasel, the tortoise, the hare,
The tiger, the lion, the deer and the bear,
The tail o' the peacock and the camels two humps
Yet there still was one creature had old Darwin stumped.
Darwin wrote of this creature in this old addendum
Of this beast of the land of the lang reekin' lum,
Indeed first heard of this creature in this very place
When informed by a friend of an interesting case
Concerning reports of a very strange creature
That for Natural Selection had disturbing features
And this paper contains in Darwins own hand
Details of this beast he could not understand.
First sight of the creatures, uncommonly small
They would seem to be youngsters, few parents at all,
They had grown very quickly by the last days of March
But try as he might there were few he could catch
There was much in these creatures brought great consternation
For strange though it seems there's just one generation,
Of their sex, he knew nothing, I'll make no pretence
And their legs are most odd for they're two different lengths.
They have forelegs, two, short and two rear legs too long
And this State of Affairs means they fair zoom along,
Quite the swiftest of creatures, makes a greyhound seem still
For when it runs forward it's running downhill
Thus it's awful rear heavy and light to the fore
And the shorter limbs forward keeps its nose to the floor
In ascent very fast with the nose to the ground
But slow coming downwards for it must spiral round.
They will lay in the sun in the road when they can
Till their coat changes colour, I have called this tar-tan
And it's then hunters chase them running full tilt
For their coats I've been told, 'tis the reason they're kill't
There's some sac underneath that quivers like jelly
Which as far as I see is some substitute belly
But the strangest of all is the beasts State of mind
For its brains, so it seems, are in its behind.
Now, at times, they all gather on the South Loch Ness shore
And their method of crossing reveals much great lore
For they'd form three large groups with their bellies inflated
And then float in line like three humps separated,
Seems the beasts underwater breathe through reeds or something
For as they exhale there's a sound like nnnnnyyyyiiiinnnnggg.
How these beasts pro-create, how advance, I don't see,
Evolution I'll call it, preceded by D.
There's some tale of this creature with legs the same size
But it seems it's deceased, this I find a surprise,
It was much better balanced, had brains in its head
And being much smaller was easier fed.
It may be that you think that I'm making a meal
Of this strangest of creatures, but let me reveal,
So enter the piper and pipe in the feast
To inform you at last of the name of this beast.
So prepare for your supper that's simply the best
Tis the Tale o' the Haggis I must now address,
Then enough of preamble, I come to tell you
The Tale o' the Haggis, the one that is true.
Aye, the Haggis, that subject of many a fable
But none more fantastic than this at your table
The legends are many, the stories they vary
Some in agreement, and many contrary.
True, the Haggis has two legs too short and two long
But the normal view for this could not be more wrong
It is said this is due to its running up hills
But if you believe that I'd keep taking the pills
It is said that this helps for the old highland fling
But these facts are more due to the sex o' the thing,
Reared on its hind legs, like a map of U.K.
With the brains in the bum bone, that's London, some say.
But, the sex o' the Haggis, and many may ask
Which then is which then, an impossible task,
But on this great question I'll now shed some light
For the Haggis, in fact, is a hermaphrodite!
Now, in case, there are some here who don't understand
The Haggis is a lady yet also a man
So two legs are female, the other two male
And the she seem the shorter for they've daintier nails.
Now, the food o' the Haggis is bracken and heather
And it sure dines-a-plenty in the warm summer weather
But the days they grow shorter the climate turns cold,
The food becomes rarer and the Haggis grows old
And it's when they can't get any food down their necks
The Haggae then feel the first stirrings of sex
And the passion and hunger, they rise in swift tandem
Till at last comes the time when the Haggis can't stand 'em.
And it's dying for sex an' it's dying for feasts
And the two thoughts are mixed in this real sex-starved beast
Driven crazy by hunger and sexual frustration
It looks for the answer to its own consummation
Till there's just one way out and the Haggis is doomed
For the Haggis, at last, is by its self consumed!
That it's in a sheep's stomach was said by some nut
For the Haggis, in fact, is in its own gut.
So, it starts with a leg end this great highland rover
Then eats all the rest when it's had this leg over
For the Haggis can't stand to be left on the shelf
So it seems it both eats and four-x's itself
And then licks it's lips, so they're puckered, like this
So this boil in the bag, it is sealed with a kiss
And to this offal end comes each Haggis some day,
But, then the Haggis has no end, it's had it away.
And why's the Haggis a pudding? The reason, of course
Is the Haggis itself has had the main course
As for Natural Selection, we can see very well
That for Haggis the natural selection's itsel
So the proof of the pudding is found in the eating
But the proof of this Tale will, I'd say, take some beating
For the Haggis has no tail as any can see
And if there's no Tale, then the truth this must be!
So the ode it nears ending, recital runs dry,
The Assembly is only imagined, but why?
Do we not have the right to seek more independence?
Need the Act of the Union be a self-devoured sentence?
For if we don't have the stomach to stand for our right
We will bask in the glow of a fire unlit
And the question that beckons as the years first month turns
Do we have the true will to celebrate Burns.
Tagged in jim barrass