BY ROBERT BURNS
TAMS MUCKLE TURD.
Intae the wids amongst the trees.
Tam bared his erse, his cheeks to ease.
Nae sinner hud his breeks gan doon.
Than shitty flees were swarming roon.
Intae the wind he bared his baws
and from his erse a big keech faws.
The reek it curled amongst the trees.
‘twis enough tae make the birdies sneeze.
An’ a’ the bees on bended knees,
Got sick a fricht o’ Tams big erse.
Big Tam wis in awfy pain.
It came oot his erse like a nine pund wean.
Thur wis a tear faw fi’ his eee
For a bigger shit you’d never see.
Big Tams erse wis raw an sair.
Says big Tam I’ll shite nae mair.
Yonder it lay amongst the grit.
A dirty stinkin’ muckle shit.
Yonder it lay si saft, si fresh.
Nae een, nae teeth, nae bains, nae flesh.
I swear it never drew a breath.
Tams Muckle Turd.