Scott Brown's

who knew there were settings? Oh what a sleekit, horrible beastie Lurks in yer stomach efter a feastie As ye sit doon amang yer kin, There starts to stir a michty wind. The neeps and tatties and mushie peas, Stert workin like a gentle breeze But soon the puddin' wi' the sonsie face Will hiv ye blawin' a' ower the place. Nae matter whit the hell ye dae A?'body's gonnae huv tae pay Even if ye try tae stifle, It's like a bullet oot a rifle. Haud yer bum tight tae the chair Tae try tae stop the leakin' air. Shift yersel' fae cheek tae cheek An' pray to God it disnae reek. But a' yer efforts go assunder, Oot it comes like a clap o' thunder. It ricochets aroon' the room, Michty me! A sonic boom! God almighty, It fairly reeks (I hope a hivnae' shit ma breeks) Straight tae the bog ah better scurry Aw whit the hell, It's no ma worry. A'body roon'aboot me's chokin' Wan or twa are nearly bokin'. Ah'll feel much better fur a while, Ah cannae help but raise a smile. 'Twis him