Scots wha hae wi Wallace bled
What are ye doing next my bed
Ken ye not you’re lang years dead
And shent of labors?
Why hae ye climmered from the mud
To stand here a’ adrip wi blood
And with some verra doubtful crud
Upon your sabres?
Some moght say it shows ill-breeding
To stand here ilka man just bleeding
Gangrel-like my cries unheeding
Get ye aff; ye’ll scare the neighbors!
Very funny. We should do an annual reading on Burns night!
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