Should anyone ask me I will give a rousing rendition of any Burns poem you care to name. If it is Tam O'Shanter, then lock your bairns away lest they have bad dreams.
Five tomahawks wi' bluid red usted.;
Five scymitars wi' murder crusted,
A garter hich a babe had strangled;
A knife a father's throat had mangled -
Whom his ain son o' life bereft-
The grey-hairs yet stack to the heft;
Wi' mair of horrible and awefu',
Which even to name would be unlawfu' ...
Re those rebellious Scots. They will not leave the UK because they can't afford to. We have subsdised them generously since 1707.
Bu Alas,there is no celtic word for 'Thank you!'
Last edited by John Whitworth; 10-30-2016 at 08:50 AM.
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