Rabbie Burns

#1
Happy 254th birthday to The Bard or Ploughman Poet.

I've got a hangover that would kill a small horse having celebrated Burns Night last night. If you're asked to do a reading, you could always give 'em this:

Ode to a fart.

Oh what a sleekit horrible beastie
Lurks in yer belly efter the feastie
As ye sit doon amongst yer kin
There sterts tae stir an enormous win'

The neeps an' tatties an' mushy peas
Stert workin' like a gentle breeze
But soon the puddin' wi' the sonsie face
Will have ye blawin' a' ower the place.

Nae matter whit the hell ye dae
A'body's gonnae have tae pay
Even if ye try tae stifle
It's like a bullet oot o' a rifle

Hawd yer bum ticht tae the chair
Tae try an' stop the leakin' air
Shift yersel fae cheek tae cheek
Pray tae God it disnae reek.

But aw yer efforts gan asunder
Oot it comes like a clap o' thunder
Ricochets aroon' the room
Michty me! A sonic boom

God Almighty, it fairly reeks!
Hope I huvnae crapped ma breeks!
Tae the bog I'd better scurry,
Ach, whit the hell, it's no ma worry.

A'body roon aboot me chokin'
Yin or twa were nearly bokin'
I'll feel better for a while
Cannae help but raise a smile.

Wis him! I shout with accusin' glower,
Alas! Too late! He's just keeled ower
Ya dirty bugger, they shout and stare
A didnae feel welcome ony mair

Where e're ye be let yer wind gang free
Sounds like just thon wee jobby for me
Whit a fuss at Rabbie's party
Ower the sake o' ma ane wee farty.
 

CanteenCowboy

LE
Book Reviewer
#2
Did they have 'Atholl Brose'?

I will miss that more than most things, could say that about Army Chefs, they knew how to mass produce it to excellent standards.
 
#3
Gallons of the stuff - all made under the watchful eye of the Chief Clerk! Trying to describe it before it arrived to the lass sitting next to me, I said 'it's like Baileys for men'! bloody marvellous but probably largely to blame for my parlous condition this morning.
 
#5
Happy 254th birthday to The Bard or Ploughman Poet.

I've got a hangover that would kill a small horse having celebrated Burns Night last night. If you're asked to do a reading, you could always give 'em this:

Ode to a fart.

Oh what a sleekit horrible beastie
Lurks in yer belly efter the feastie
As ye sit doon amongst yer kin
There sterts tae stir an enormous win'

The neeps an' tatties an' mushy peas
Stert workin' like a gentle breeze
But soon the puddin' wi' the sonsie face
Will have ye blawin' a' ower the place.

Nae matter whit the hell ye dae
A'body's gonnae have tae pay
Even if ye try tae stifle
It's like a bullet oot o' a rifle

Hawd yer bum ticht tae the chair
Tae try an' stop the leakin' air
Shift yersel fae cheek tae cheek
Pray tae God it disnae reek.

But aw yer efforts gan asunder
Oot it comes like a clap o' thunder
Ricochets aroon' the room
Michty me! A sonic boom

God Almighty, it fairly reeks!
Hope I huvnae crapped ma breeks!
Tae the bog I'd better scurry,
Ach, whit the hell, it's no ma worry.

A'body roon aboot me chokin'
Yin or twa were nearly bokin'
I'll feel better for a while
Cannae help but raise a smile.

Wis him! I shout with accusin' glower,
Alas! Too late! He's just keeled ower
Ya dirty bugger, they shout and stare
A didnae feel welcome ony mair

Where e're ye be let yer wind gang free
Sounds like just thon wee jobby for me
Whit a fuss at Rabbie's party
Ower the sake o' ma ane wee farty.
For shame! And tae think the Queen's Regiment and the KOSB (Rab's auld regiment - he wis only TA mind) were affiliated!
 
C

cloudbuster

Guest
#7
Yer man was a complete amateur:
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. - Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.
 
C

cloudbuster

Guest
#8
Even this is better than Burns:
Three fellows wenten into a pub
And gleefully their hands did rub
In expectation of revellery
For, twas the hour that is happy

Great bottles of wine did they quaff
And had a really good laff
Till drunkeness held full dominion
For twas two for the price of one

Yet after wine and mead and sack
Man must have a massive snack
Great Pasties from Cornwall
Scottish Eggs, round like a ball

Great hams, quail, duck and geese
They sucked the bones and drank the grease
One fellow stood all pale and wan
For he was vegetarian

Yet man knoweth that gluttony
Stoketh the fires of letchery
Upon three young wenches round and sly
The fellows cast a wanton eye

One did approach with drunken wink
'allo, darlin, d'you fancy a drink?'
Soon they caught them on their knee
Twas like some grizzly puppetry
Such was the lewdness and debauchery
Twas like a sketch by Dick Emery
(except for Dick Emery was not yet born
So such comparison may not be drawn)

Then the fellows began to pale,
for quail is not the friend of ale
And in their bellies much confusion
From their throats, vile extrusion

Stinking foul corruption came spewing forth from drooling lips
The fetted stench did fill the pub
Twas the very arse of Beelzebub!

Thrown they were from Horn and Trumpet
In the street no coin, no strumpet
Homeward bound they must quickly go
To that end a donkey stole

Their hands all with vomit greased
The donkey - was not pleased
It threw them into a ditch of shite
And they all agreed 'What a brilliant night!'
 
#11
Although as a Scotsman I am proud and appreciative of the talents of the Great Bard, I feel we have missed the opportunity to celebrate our other great Bard, a personal favourite of the late Queen Victoria I believe - the one and only WILLIAM TOPAZ McGONAGALL !!!

Here is his most famous gem:

The Tay Bridge Disaster

Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.

’Twas about seven o’clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clouds seem’d to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem’d to say-
“I’ll blow down the Bridge of Tay.”

When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers’ hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say-
“I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay.”

But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.

So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers’ hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov’d most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.

So the train mov’d slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.

As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o’er the town,
Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down,
And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill’d all the peoples hearts with sorrow,
And made them for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav’d to tell the tale
How the disaster happen’d on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.

It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.
 
#14
Reputedly an ancestor...

Cleveland Lyke-wake Dirge (Traditional)


THIS yah neet, this yah neet,
— Ivvery neet an' all,
Fire an' fleet an' cannle leet,
An' Christ tak up thy saul.

When thoo frae hence away art passed
— Ivvery neet an' all,
Ti Whinny Moor thoo cums at last
An' Christ tak up thy saul.

If ivver thoo gav owther hosen or shoon,
— Ivvery neet an' all,
Clap thee doon, an' put 'em on,
An' Christ tak up thy saul.

Bud if hosen an' shoon thoo nivver gav neean,
— Ivvery neet an' all,
T'whinnies'll prick thee sair ti t'beean,
An' Christ tak up thy saul.

Frae Whinny Moor when thoo art passed,
— Ivvery neet an' all,
Ti t'Brig o' Dreead tho cums at last,
An' Christ tak up thy saul.

If ivver thoo gav o' thy siller an' gowd,
— Ivvery neet an' all,
On t'Brig o'Dreead thoo'll finnd footho'd,
An' Christ tak up thy saul.

Bud if silver an' gowd thoo nivver gav neean,
— Ivvery neet an' all,
Thoo'll doon, doon tumle towards Hell fleeame,
An' Christ tak up thy saul.

Frae t'Brig o' Dreead when thoo art passed
— Ivvery neet an' all,
Ti t'fleeames o' Hell tho'll cum at last,
An' Christ tak up thy saul.

If ivver thoo gav owther bite or sup,
— Ivvery neet an' all,
T'fleeames'll nivver catch thee up,
An' Christ tak up thy saul.

Bud if bite or sup thoo nivver gav neean,
— Ivvery neet an' all,
T' flames'll bon thee sair ti t'beean,
An' Christ tak up thy saul.

This yah neet, this yah neet,
— Ivvery neet an' all,
Fire an' fleet an' cannle leet,
An' Christ tak up thy saul.




You'll have noticed that it's not Scottish but it was collected by Sir Walter Scott and features in his "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border". That shows how crap he was at geography - it's 80 miles from the Border.
 
#15
Right, I'm all set.

Haggis all ready
Tatties ready for mashing
Neeps all ready

And picked up a bottle of Lagavulin 16yr Single Malt
I'm not a whisky buff so can anyone let me know if this is a good one? What should I be looking out for in he tasting?
 
#16
And picked up a bottle of Lagavulin 16yr Single Malt
I'm not a whisky buff so can anyone let me know if this is a good one? What should I be looking out for in he tasting?
Nah, it's shit. You won't like it and best get rid of it.

I may know someone who can dispose of it for you and will only charge a reasonable fee.
 

TheIronDuke

ADC
Book Reviewer
#17
I have never liked the Welsh. It is not that they are pissed-up ginger ******* dwarfs. It is more the fact that they never shut the **** up about their 'Heritage'. Which let us face it, consists of getting battered to **** by the English. Who are their lawful masters.

They remind me of the Scotch. Another race of ginger cnuts who are punching above their weight.

People from Yorkshire? Don't ******* start me.
 
C

cloudbuster

Guest
#18
People from Yorkshire? Don't ******* start me.
Wheear 'as tha been sin' ah saw thee ?
On Ilkey Moor baht 'at.
Wheear 'as tha been sin' ah saw thee ? (ah saw thee)
Wheear 'as tha been sin' ah saw thee ? (without tha trousers on)
On Ilkey Moor Baht 'at.
On Ilkey Moor Baht 'at.
On Ilkey Moor Baht 'at. (where the ducks play football)
 
#19
I can never undestand how this whole Burns regional gibberish thing has lasted so long. It's not like the porridge wogs need an excuse for a piss up?

There was a young lady frae Dundee
She'd drawp 'em for 99p... etc.
 
#20

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