Much to his Mum and Dad's dismay,
Horace ate himself one day.
He didn't stop to say his grace,
He just sat down and ate his face.
'We can't have this!' His Dad declared,
'If that lad's ate, he should be shared.'
But even as they spoke they saw,
Horace eating more and more:
First his legs and then his thighs,
His arms, his nose, his hair, his eyes...
'Stop him someone!' Mother cried,
'Those eyeballs would be better fried!'
But all to late, for they were gone,
And he had started on his dong...
'Oh! foolish child!' the father mourns,
'You could have deep fried that with prawns,
Some parsely and some tarter sauce...'
But H. was on his second course:
His liver and his lights and lung,
His ears, his neck, his chin, his tongue;
'To think I raised him from the cot,
And now he's going to scoff the lot!'
His Mother cried: 'What shall we do?
What's left won't even make a stew...'
And as she wept her son was seen,
To eat his head, his heart, his spleen.
And there he lay, a boy no more,
Just a stomache, on the floor...
None the less, since it was his,
They ate it - that's what haggis is
(Horace ate himself one day.
He didn't stop to say his grace,
He just sat down and ate his face.
'We can't have this!' His Dad declared,
'If that lad's ate, he should be shared.'
But even as they spoke they saw,
Horace eating more and more:
First his legs and then his thighs,
His arms, his nose, his hair, his eyes...
'Stop him someone!' Mother cried,
'Those eyeballs would be better fried!'
But all to late, for they were gone,
And he had started on his dong...
'Oh! foolish child!' the father mourns,
'You could have deep fried that with prawns,
Some parsely and some tarter sauce...'
But H. was on his second course:
His liver and his lights and lung,
His ears, his neck, his chin, his tongue;
'To think I raised him from the cot,
And now he's going to scoff the lot!'
His Mother cried: 'What shall we do?
What's left won't even make a stew...'
And as she wept her son was seen,
To eat his head, his heart, his spleen.
And there he lay, a boy no more,
Just a stomache, on the floor...
None the less, since it was his,
They ate it - that's what haggis is
mongychops,
Tue 15 Nov 2005, 10:37,
archived)
hahahahalully.
Thor_sonofodin has done things, terrible things on,
Tue 15 Nov 2005, 10:41,
archived)
Sir Brian had a battle-ax with great big knobs on.
He went among the villagers and blipped them on the head.
On Wednesday and on Saturday,
Especially on the latter day,
He called on all the cottages and this is what he said:
"I am Sir Brian!" (Ting-ling!)
"I am Sir Brian!" (Rat-tat!)
"I am Sir Brian,
"As bold as a lion!
"Take that, and that, and that!"
Sir Brian had a pair of boots with great big spurs on;.
A fighting pair of which he was particularly fond.
On Tuesday and on Friday,
Just to make the street look tidy,
He'd collect the passing villagers and kick them in the pond.
"I am Sir Brian!" (Sper-lash!)
"I am Sir Brian!" (Sper-losh!)
"I am Sir Brian,
"As bold as a Lion!
"Is anyone else for a wash?"
Sir Brian woke one morning and he couldn't find his battle-ax.
He walked into the village in his second pair of boots.
He had gone a hundred paces
When the street was full of faces
And the villagers were 'round him with ironical salutes.
"You are Sir Brian? My, my.
"You are Sir Brian? Dear, dear.
"You are Sir Brian
"As bold as a lion?
"Delighted to meet you here!"
Sir Brian went a journey and he found a lot of duckweed.
They pulled him out and dried him and they blipped him on the head.
They took him by the breeches
And they hurled him into ditches
And they pushed him under waterfalls and this is what they said:
"You are Sir Brian -- don't laugh!
"You are Sir Brian -- don't cry!
"You are Sir Brian
"As bold as a lion --
"Sir Brian the Lion, goodbye!"
Sir Brian struggled home again and chopped up his battle-ax.
Sir Brian took his fighting boots and threw them in the fire.
He is quite a different person
Now he hasn't got his spurs on,
And he goes about the village as B. Botany, Esquire.
"I am Sir Brian? Oh, no!
"I am Sir Brian? Who's he?
"I haven't any title, I'm Botany;
"Plain Mr. Botany (B.)"
(,
Tue 15 Nov 2005, 10:42,
archived)
He went among the villagers and blipped them on the head.
On Wednesday and on Saturday,
Especially on the latter day,
He called on all the cottages and this is what he said:
"I am Sir Brian!" (Ting-ling!)
"I am Sir Brian!" (Rat-tat!)
"I am Sir Brian,
"As bold as a lion!
"Take that, and that, and that!"
Sir Brian had a pair of boots with great big spurs on;.
A fighting pair of which he was particularly fond.
On Tuesday and on Friday,
Just to make the street look tidy,
He'd collect the passing villagers and kick them in the pond.
"I am Sir Brian!" (Sper-lash!)
"I am Sir Brian!" (Sper-losh!)
"I am Sir Brian,
"As bold as a Lion!
"Is anyone else for a wash?"
Sir Brian woke one morning and he couldn't find his battle-ax.
He walked into the village in his second pair of boots.
He had gone a hundred paces
When the street was full of faces
And the villagers were 'round him with ironical salutes.
"You are Sir Brian? My, my.
"You are Sir Brian? Dear, dear.
"You are Sir Brian
"As bold as a lion?
"Delighted to meet you here!"
Sir Brian went a journey and he found a lot of duckweed.
They pulled him out and dried him and they blipped him on the head.
They took him by the breeches
And they hurled him into ditches
And they pushed him under waterfalls and this is what they said:
"You are Sir Brian -- don't laugh!
"You are Sir Brian -- don't cry!
"You are Sir Brian
"As bold as a lion --
"Sir Brian the Lion, goodbye!"
Sir Brian struggled home again and chopped up his battle-ax.
Sir Brian took his fighting boots and threw them in the fire.
He is quite a different person
Now he hasn't got his spurs on,
And he goes about the village as B. Botany, Esquire.
"I am Sir Brian? Oh, no!
"I am Sir Brian? Who's he?
"I haven't any title, I'm Botany;
"Plain Mr. Botany (B.)"