The futterat snaps up mice, fur a wager
His mowser’s brave as a serjeant major
His een are hat preens
Pink’s yer crannie
He likes bluid,
Sae ye’d best ca-cannie
He’d hae yer haun aff
Flesh, thoomb, been
His teeth’s as sherp as a guillotine
He guffs like a rotten, rottin in a drain
Lowps ben the girse like a rin-a-wa train
Like a wee fite brig
Staunin humphy ower a burn
Wi his twa een bleezin
He’ll stop an turn
An “Wha daur meddle wi me?” he’ll spit
“I’m as jobby as a thrissle an I’m faist o wit
I can lowp, I can fecht, I can rin upstairs”
Bide awa frae the futterat
Or LUIK OOT FOR SAIRS!