The Blue Balls of Scotland

With a deep sense of dread and foreboding, I glanced at the clock on the wall; it was time. The wind was howling like a lone wolf in the black of night. Dark clouds were surrounding the tiny valley and the temperature was plummeting.

Alone in my room, I began to prepare for the evening. I learned long ago that the secret to warmth on extremely cold nights was layering, however, such a strategy presented a major fashion problem. I would appear to be severely overweight, Oh The Humanity!!!! Oh well, I would just have to sacrifice style for comfort. There is a more weighty problem to contend with, how to keep the Pipes playing in the extreme cold. I have developed several methods that have proven highly effective over the years, none of which I will share here; instead, I will share some poetry appropriate for the oncoming winter. I call it, "The Blue Balls of Scotland"

The Blue Balls of Scotland

I'm a Scot, aye sure it's true
And my garb is thar tae prove
I wear the Kilt, the shoes and such
And my knees are bare tae boot.

A heartier soul ye ne're will find
For that's the Celtic way
We come frae folk who spurn the cold
Who welcome the winter fray

Oh oft's the tame I hear the phrase
Lad, what under the Kilt is worn
I hae tae laugh and slap my knee
For the answer has drawn such scorn

And many a jest has thar been thrown
And quips are varied too
And so I share with you
The answers though thar be quite a few

What is worn beneath my Kilt?
Ye ask wi' no regreats
So I'll gie ya the first o' many quips
That you're sure to always git

Why Nothing Lass, and that's the truth
I Swear on this heart o' mine
Fer if ya take a peek below
You'll see it all works just fine

A blushing lass away doth walk
I'm sorry fer her fix
But then another lad walks buy
His mouth begins to twitch

Excuse me sir, he bellows oot
But, I've a question on me mind
That's such a pretty dress ye wear
Underneath whit will I find

My blood begins tae boil
As the bloke strides up tae me
He's tryin tae be funny
For his lads who laugh, tee hee

I look the Jackey in the eye
And with a sly ole grin
I say, I think ye'll find yer mother's lipstick
still fresh frae where's she's been

Oh yes, the comments come and go
Frae folks who've nae a care
But, whit's the bottom line tae this
Ah yes, I'll kindly share

Though many lads puff oot they're chest
And tout there manly ways
They're just like strutting peacocks
Fer they lack the crucial trait

Fer tae be a man is no' just talk
Nor how the lad be built
A man's a man who without shame
Can proudly wear the Kilt.

And that's the honest truth.

By Robert (Piper Bob) Jacob
All rights reserved 11/18/2011