Ye kilt wearers!

#5
O Flower of Scotland,
When will we see
Your like again,
That fought and died for,
Your wee bit Hill and Glen,
And stood against him,
Proud Edward's Army,
And sent him homeward,
Tae think again.
The Hills are bare now,
And Autumn leaves
lie thick and still,
O'er land that is lost now,
Which those so dearly held,
That stood against him,
Proud Edward's Army,
And sent him homeward,
Tae think again.

Those days are past now,
And in the past
they must remain,
But we can still rise now,
And be the nation again,
That stood against him,
Proud Edward's Army,
And sent him homeward,
Tae think again.

0 Flower of Scotland,
When will we see
your like again,
That fought and died for,
Your wee bit Hill and Glen,
And stood against him,
Proud Edward's Army,
And sent him homeward,
Tae think again.
 
#9
Oh It's A Braw Day :D




There was a soldier, a Scottish soldier
Who wandered far away, and soldiered far away
There was non bolder, with good broad shoulder
He's fought in many a fray, and fought and won.
He's seen the glory, and told the story
Of battles glorious, and deeds victorious
But now he's sighing, his heart is crying
To leave these green hills ofTyrol
Because these green hills are not highland hills,
Or the island hills, they're not my land's hills
And fair as these green foreign hills may be
They are not the hills of home

And now this soldier, this Scottish soldier
Who wandered far away, and soldiered far away
Sees leaves are falling, and death is calling
And he will fade away, in that far land
He's called his piper his trusty piper
And bade him sound alay, A pi-broch sad to play
Up on a hillside, but Scottish hillside
Not on these green hills of Tyrol............
Chorus

And so this soldier, this Scottish soldier
Will wander far no more, and soldier far no more
And on a hillside, a Scottish hillside
You'll see a piper play his soldier home
He's seen the glory, he's told the story
Of battles glourious and deeds victorious
The bugles cease now, he is at peace now
Far from those green hills of Tyrol...........
Chorus
 
#12
Well we might as well have some Billy Connolly quotes (obviously before he developed that mid-atlantic drawl):

Two guys are talking and one says to the other: "What would you do if the end of the world was in 3 minutes time?" The other one says, "I'd sh*g everything that moved...What would you do?" And he says, "I'd stand perfectly still."

I'm a big fan of the Mars Bar Diet. You don't eat the Mars bar, you stick it up your arse and let a rottweiler chase you home.

Save the Trees?...Trees are the main cause of Forest Fires!

What is it with McDonald's staff who pretend they don't understand you unless you insert the 'Mc' before the item you're ordering? It has to be a McChicken burger...a chicken burger gets blank looks. Well, I'll have a McStraw and jam it into your McEyes, you f**cking McTosser!

Fame is being asked to sign your autograph on the back of cigarette packet.

Poor Michael Jackson and these sex allegations. As if it's not bad enough him being a Jehova's Witness, they're accusing him of behaving like a catholic priest!

American sex shops are the most bizarre. They sell these inflatable dolls, but they also sell just the head - supposedly for people to drive along the freeway with.

Who discovered we could get milk from cows, and what did he THINK he was doing at the time?

Oh aye...my Father would thrash me every now and then. He'd talk while he did it too! He'd hit me and shout, 'Have ye had enough?' Had enough? Whit kind of question is that? 'Why, Father, would another kick in the balls be out of the question???'
 
#14
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 of 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 slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie 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 like drums;
The 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 owre 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 make 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!
 
#15
Sorry - I should have put in the English translation.


Fair full your honest, jolly face,
Great chieftain of the sausage race!
Above them all you take your place,
Stomach, tripe, or intestines:
Well are you worthy of a grace
As long as my arm.

The groaning trencher there you fill,
Your buttocks like a distant hill,
Your pin would help to mend a mill
In time of need,
While through your pores the dews distill
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour wipe,
And cut you up with ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like any ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm steaming, rich!

Then spoon for spoon, the stretch and strive:
Devil take the hindmost, on they drive,
Till all their well swollen bellies by-and-by
Are bent like drums;
Then old Master of the house, most like to burst,
'The grace!' hums.

Is there that over his French ragout,
Or olio that would sicken a sow,
Or fricassee would make her throw-up
With perfect disgust,
Looks down with sneering, scornful view
On such a dinner?

Poor devil! see him over his trash,
As feeble as a withered rush,
His thin legs a good whip-lash,
His fist a nut;
Through bloody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit.

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his ample fist a blade,
He will make it whistle;
And legs, and arms, and heads will crop
Like tops of thistle.

You powers, who make mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill of fare,
Old Scotland want no watery ware,
That splashes in small wooden dishes;
But is you wish her grateful prayer,
Give her a Haggis!
 
#17
An Oldie but Goldie for your reading pleasure

"Wha's Like Us?"

Damn Few And They're A' Died!

The average Englishman in the home he call his castle slips into his national costume, a shabby raincoat, patented by Chemist Charles Macintosh from Glasgow, Scotland.

En-route to his office he strides along the English lane, surfaced by John Macadam of Ayr, Scotland.

He drives an English car fitted with tyres invented by John Boyd Dunlop, Veterinary Surgeon of Dreghorn, Scotland.

At the office he receives the mail bearing adhesive stamps invented by John Chalmers, Bookseller and Printer of Dundee, Scotland.

During the day he uses the telephone invented by Alexander Graham Bell, born in Edinburgh, Scotland. At home in the evening his daughter pedals her bicycle invented by Kirkpatrick Macmillan, Blacksmith of Thornhill, Dumfriesshire, Scotland.

He watches the news on television, an invention of John Logie Baird of Helensburgh, Scotland, and hears an item about the U.S. Navy founded by John Paul Jones of Kirkbean, Scotland.

Nowhere can an Englishman turn to escape the ingenuity of the Scots.

He has by now been reminded too much of Scotland and in desperation he picks up the Bible, only to find that the first man mentioned in the good book is a Scot, King James VI, who authorized its translation.

He could take to drink but the Scots make the best in the world.

He could take a rifle and end it all, but the breech-loading rifle was invented by Captain Patrick Ferguson of Pitfours, Scotland.

If he escaped death, he could find himself on an operating table injected with penicillin, discovered by Sir Alexander Fleming of Darvel, Scotland, and given chloroform, an anesthetic discovered by Sir James Young Simpson, Obstetrician and Gynecologist of Bathgate, Scotland.

Out of the anesthetic he would find no comfort in learning that he was as safe as the Bank of England founded by William Paterson of Dumfries, Scotland.

Perhaps his only remaining hope would be to get a transfusion of guid Scottish blood which would entitle him to ask:


"Wha's Like Us?"
 
#18
Perhaps Its because im an ignorant sassenach but why do u address a haggis - as far as i can work out (apart from its very nice to eat) its a totally inanimate object and wont answer back - its a bit like me talking to my car when it wont start - the first signs of madness
 

Fang_Farrier

LE
Kit Reviewer
Book Reviewer
#19
OSACIN said:
Perhaps Its because im an ignorant sassenach but why do u address a haggis - as far as i can work out (apart from its very nice to eat) its a totally inanimate object and wont answer back - its a bit like me talking to my car when it wont start - the first signs of madness
No, it's the first sign of drunkeness! :lol:
 

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