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, Warm-reekin', rich! 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, "Bethankit" hums. Is there that o'er his barbecue, Or baked potato, to stuff a sow, Or raw hamburger, would make her spew wi' perfect disgust; Looks down wi' sneering scornful view on such a dinner? |
Poor Elks and Moose! See them o'er their trash, As feckless as the withered grass. Their fez and sash, we take a pass; Through poetry and Scotch to dash, Oh how unfit! But mark the Masons, piglet fed, Trembling Manila resounds their tread; Clap in their hands a fork and knife, They'll mak' them whistle - And before y'all know it, 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 rare." 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 will be. Yours aye, Bill Cocks |