"Fair fa' yer honest, sonsie face, great Chieftain o' the pudden race"

Oh, whit a sleekit horrible beastie, lurks in yer belly efter a feastie. An' even if it ye try tae stifle, it's like a bullet oot a rifle, Hawd yer bum ticht tae the chair, 'n try tae stop that leakin' air. Shimmy yersel frae cheek tae cheek, 'n pray tae god it disnae reek, Oot it comes, a sonic boom, that ricochets aroond the room. Michty me, it fairly reeks! A' hope a' huv'nae shat ma breeks!