In Scotland all the people wear
Red hair and freckles, and one sees
The men in women's dresses there,
With stout, decollete, low-necked knees.
(‘ Eblins ye dinna ken, I doot,
We're unco guid, so hoot, mon, hoot!’ )
They love‘ ta whuskey’ and‘ ta Kirk’;
I do n't know which they like the most.
They are n't the least afraid of work;
No sense of humour can they boast;
And you require an axe to coax
The canny Scot to see your jokes.
They play an instrument they call
The bagpipes; and the sound of these
Is reminiscent of the squall
Of infant pigs attacked by bees;
Music that might drive cats away
Or make reluctant chickens lay.
Wear kilts, and, tho’ men look askance,
Go out and give your knees a chance.