Nigel was a Scotchman
Who wore the kilt an aw,
He stained it with some marmalade
And rubbed his sporran raw.

A habit from his army days
When dressed in jungle green.
And pretty girls were few and far
And Nigel far too mean

To spend his hard-earned pennies
On bowls of mutton stew,
So, he took to nightly rubbing
Of his sporran - wouldn’t you?

But we all love you, Nigel.
Aye, hail, and rain doth blaw,
You great Scotch *** in jam smeared kilt.
Ye Guffey **** an aw.