THE HAGGIS HUNT

THE HAGGIS HUNT

Close by a big fire, our host fried ham and eggs

“Is that your Ayrshire bacon?” “Naw, heatin’ ma legs!”

We ate then we left the pub for the car park

Where our guide, half-wit Hamish loomed out of the dark

With his good wife, Mad Morag - no beauty (in truth

Some called her Juanita - she’d only one tooth).
 

We trudged up Glen Campbell, through wind and cold rain

Saw no sign of a haggis, so trudged down again.

Headed round to Ben Dover, where birds of prey fly

But the weather had won, there was just empty sky.

Hamish started a pop quiz “There’s the eagles” he’d bark

(or kestrel manoeuvres in the dark).
 

The hunt still dragged on to find haggis, the prize

Was to catch a bull haggis of incredible size.

This bull was a legend, oft heard, but not seen

But we found its fresh droppings, some blue and some green

Hamish screamed “This is bullshit!” a cry from the heart

Though I'm sure you already knew, right from the start!