Nae Hair On't
Yestreen I wed a lady fair,
And ye wad believe me,
On her cunt there grows nae hair,
That's the thing that grieves me.
It vexed me sair, it plagu'd me sair,
It put me in a passion,
To think that I had wad a wife,
Whase cunt was out o' fashion.
(Really is Burns!)
