happy Burns Night all you scotlandish folk. (1 Viewer)

[La La]

When first my brave Johnie lad came to this town,
He had a blue bonnet that wanted the crown,
But now he has gotten a hat and a feather -
Hey, brave Johnie lad, cock up your beaver!

Cock up your beaver, and cock it fu' sprush!
We'll over the border and gie them a brush:
There's somebody there we'll teach better behaviour -
Hey, brave Johnie lad, cock up your beaver!

 

[La La]

A Scotsman asks the dentist the cost for a tooth extraction.

"£85 for an extraction sir," was the dentist's reply.

"£ 85!!! Huv ye no' got anythin' cheaper?"

"That's the normal charge," said the dentist.

"Whit aboot if ye didnae use any anesthetic?"

"That's unusual, sir, but I could do it and knock £15 off."

"Whit aboot if ye used one of your dentist trainees and still without an anesthetic?"

"I can't guarantee their professionalism and it'll be painful. But the price could drop to £40."

"How aboot if ye make it a trainin' session, ave yer student do the extraction with the other students watchin' and learnin?"

"It'll be good for the students," mulled the dentist. "I'll charge you £5. But it will be traumatic."

"Och now yer talkin' laddie! It's a deal," said the Scotsman. "Can ye confirm an appointment for the wife next Tuesday then?"

 

[theweeyin]

Mmmmm, neeps n' tatties all round!

Ode to a Haggis

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o' the pudding-race!
Aboon them a' yet 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 was 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 like 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 make her spew
Wi' perfect sconner,
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckles as wither'd rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash;
His nieve a nit;
Thro' blody 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' hands will sned,
Like taps o' trissle.

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!

Rabbie Burns

 

[La La]

 

[theweeyin]

Ach, he disnae hiv tha legs fur it.

 

[Wavioli]

[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, Univers, sans-serif][FONT=Arial, Helvetica, Univers, sans-serif]The Poems of Ewen McTeagle
Introduced by the Lionel Blair Dancers [/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, Univers, sans-serif]From the lonely crofts of Scotland, two three turn, from the haunts of coot and hern, pause kick, comes a still small voice in a world gone mad, jump two three down, round, spin: the poetry of Ewen McTeagle. This young Scottish poet, up two three, spin, jump and down, has taken the world of literature by the throat, pause, kick kick pause, with such poems as 'Spare us 50p for a cup of tea, Guv' and the world famous 'Lend us a quid till the end of the week'.

[/FONT]
Lend us a quid till the end of the week.
If you could see your way
To lending me sixpence
I could at least buy a newspaper.
That's not much to ask anyone. [FONT=Arial, Helvetica, Univers, sans-serif]
[/FONT][FONT=Arial, Helvetica, Univers, sans-serif]Upon Reading Chapman's Homer in Selfridges

[/FONT]
Owe gie to me a shillin for some fags
And I'll pay yer back on Thursday.
But if you can wait till Saturday
I'm expecting a divvy from the
Harpenden Building Society. [FONT=Arial, Helvetica, Univers, sans-serif]Lines Written to Lassie O'Shea

[/FONT]
'To Ma Own Beloved Mary.
A poem on her 17th birthday'

Lend us a couple of bob till Thursday
I'm absolutely skint
But I'm expecting a postal order
And I can pay you back
As soon as it comes.
[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, Univers, sans-serif]The recurrence of this theme of desperate search, for something perhaps symbolic, perhaps half imagined, is central to his greatest work: 'Can I have £50 to mend the shed.'

[/FONT]
Can I have Fifty pounds to mend the shed?
I'm right on my Uppers.
I can pay you back
When I get this postal order from Australia
Honestly.
Hope the bladder trouble's getting better.
Love, Ewen?
[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, Univers, sans-serif]Other Poems: 'My new cheque book hasn't arrived', 'Lend us a bob for a wee refreshment, hen', 'What's twenty quid to the bloody Midland Bank?', 'I'll just have to cut down on food'. [/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, Univers, sans-serif]Prize Winning Poem to the Arts Council: 'Can you lend me a £1000 quid?' (This poem won £1) [/FONT]
[/FONT]

 

[SONYMEGADRIVE]

yeah happy burns night everybody

 

[Stan Bowles]

 

[theweeyin]

A toast tae the lassies:

I've never seen a prettier sight
Than the lassies gathered here tonight

Rabbie would agree I know,
And in better words would tell you so
If I could reach back o'er the years
And snatch Rabbie here among my peers, A sweet word to each lass he'd say
And sweep all their hearts away.

 

[puppetmonkey]

Damn Scots.

Ruined Scotland.

 

[nEiLo]

Up the Jocks

 

[evil bandit]

Sherry Bobbins: Hello, Willie.
Lisa: You know her?
Willie: Aye. Shary Bobbins and I were engaged to be wed back in the old
country. Then she got her eyesight back. Suddenly the ugliest
man in Glasgow wasn't good enough for her
Sherry Bobbins: It's good to see you, Willie.
Willie: [angry] That's not what you said the first time you saw me!

 

[Yurn!]

I don't get it.