so here's one to celebrate:
ellibanks and ellibraes,
my blessin's ay befa' them,
tho' i wish i had brunt a' my claes,
the first time e'er i saw them:
your succar kisses were sae sweet,
deil d—n me gin i ken, man,
how ye gart me lay my legs aside,
and lift my sark mysel, man.
there's no lass in a' the land,
can f—k sae weel as i can;
louse down your breeks, lug out your wand,
hae ye nae mind to try, man:
for ye're the lad that wears the breeks,
and i'm the lass that loes ye;
deil rive my c—t to candle-wicks,
gif ever i refuse ye!!!
i'll clasp my arms about your neck,
as souple as an eel, jo;
i'll cleek my houghs about your a—e,
as i were gaun to speel, jo;
and if jock thief he should slip out,
i'll ding him wi' my heel, jo.
green be the broom on ellibraes,
and yellow be the gowan!
my wame it fistles ay like flaes,
as i come o'er the knowe, man:
there i lay glowran to the moon,
your mettle wadna daunton,
for hard your hurdies hotch'd aboon,
while i below lay panting.