(An almost traditional St. Patrick’s day dedication to the common potato.)
 

Wee sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous tattie,
 

Plucked frae the ground ye little fattie,
 

Thou need na try to rin aff hasty,
 

Tae save yer life,
 

Cos I wid hae to rin an chase thee,
 

Wi’ murdering knife.
 

I'm truly sorry man's cuisine,
Has broken Nature's social scene,
But efter awe, yer jist a spud,
 

Fruit o’ the earth, child o’ the mud,
 

Baked tae make ye o’ sae tasty,
 

Tae ony mortal!
 

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me
 

Even though I’ll eat you for my tea:
 

Wae baked-beans spread on top of ye.
 

What will your effect be on me!
 

I’ll fart all day – my wind blowin’ free,
 

I guess an' fear!