in Scotland fair you must beware
the weathered moor at night
For it is said a thing of dread
hunts neath it's pale moon light
It's small and stout and loves to shout
and scare the tiny mice
It kicks the trees to wake the bees
because it is not nice
it runs amok through herd and flock
and makes the chickens fly
Then opens gates and shakes lose slates
and takes pigs from the sty
It up roots crops and spills the hops
and dances in the flour
Though rarely seen its really mean
and turns the fresh milk sour
It squashes flat each butter pat
and mixers wheat with grain
then ups and screams to spoil your dreams
and runs away again
The Haggis see is wild and free
and likes to cause such fun
Breaks traps and snares and frees the hares
and helps them to their run
The hunting hound that sniffs the ground
Will never find his scent
because he sweats sweet Vi-o-lets
to cover where he went
The Heathered moor and rains that pour
wash away his tracks
and he's not scared he is prepared
for haggis run in packs
With teeth and claws and snapping jaws
they are a sight to see
So think before you seek that moor
where they run wild and free