Is there a whim-inspired lass with shoes
Owre fast for thought,owre dressed in warm oose,
Owre blate to seek, owre to bring bad news,
Leave her to shave her oxter now
And owre this grassy heap , sing blues
And drap a tiny tear some how
Should all perspiring armpits stay dry
And your mini pads stay free
No worries sweetheart and you know why
Your secret is surely safe with me.
I did believe that then, but this is now
The sheep's in the meadow, so is the cow
Better to beat my sword into a plow
In old long since, or an auld lang syne
No one I know is holier than thou
In many languages you are yet mine
