Fair fa' your honest, soncie face
Great chieftain o' the Piglet race.
Aboon them a' ye take your place
Paunch, tripe or thairm,
Well are ye worthy o' a grace as lang's my arm.
The groaning table there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill;
Your spit would help t' mend a mill in time o' need,
While on your hide the sauce distills like amber bead.
His knife, see rustic Albert wipe,
And cut ye up wi' ready slight,
Trenching your groaning stuffing bright
Like ony ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Then spoon and fork
They stretch and strive:
Ken take the hindmost!
On they drive;
'Til all their well swelled bellies, believe,
Are stretched like drums,
And old Guidman (Les), most like to belch,
Is there that o'er his barbecue,
Or baked potato, to stuff a sow,
hamburger, would make her spew wi' perfect disgust;
Looks down wi'
scornful view on such a dinner?
Poor Elks and Moose! See them o'er their
As feckless as the withered grass.
Their fez and sash, we take a
Through poetry and Scotch to dash,
Oh how unfit!
the Masons, piglet fed,
Trembling Manila resounds their tread;
their hands a fork and knife,
They'll mak' them whistle -
And before y'all
Pork's gone like the down of a thistle.
Ye Powers wha' make
mankind your care,
And dish us out our bill o' fare;
Ian and Angie want
not but a prayer -
"Bring them back to us soon,
They're special and
Gentlemen and Ladies, I offer this piece in tribute to a fine day
to honour a fine couple. It is my true and sincere hope that we'll all see Ian
and Angie back among us one day, at least for a visit; but until then,
"Godspeed!" and may your new life in the Philippines be everything you hope it
Yours aye, Bill Cocks