Oh haggis wi yir sonsie face,
Stuffed wi veg and hint o' mace
Blood an' puddin's, nae a trace
Nae painch, tripe or thairm.
Well are ye worthy o' a Grace
And dae ma hert nae herm.
Rustic Labour makes fine a coo,
Big o' hurdie, slavering moo,
A cross o' Limmy an' Belgian Blue.
Nae slechered in sharn!
The kye are a' vegan but end up as stew
Oh, whit a shan.
But mark the Rustic, haggis fed
Stuffed wi' oats and nuts (well shred)
Neeps and tatties, oaten bread,
Fit fur a king!
Stappit fu' wi' a muckle spread
Nae blud or onyhin'.
Is that a scornful een I see!
Gowkin' sneerily at ma tea?
A widnae poke fun at thee.
Each tae thir ain.
Eat whit ye like, it's nae up tae me,
I'll eat ma grain.
Ye Pow'rs wha make Mankind your care,
Dinnae care whit gings in oor fare,
Loadit wi' sugar, horsemeat and mair,
Gies me the boak.
A weel made haggis whether bloody or bare,
Will dae maist folk.