Oh, the surgeon of our shire gets no tail,
Oh, the surgeon of our shire gets no tail,
When asked what it's all about,
He just roars, "Cut it out!"
Oh, the surgeon of our shire gets no tail.
Oh, the peasant of our shire gets no tail,
When with wenches he'd be tumbling,
With his belt he's still a-fumbling,
Oh, the peasant of our shire gets no tail.
Oh, our seneschal's lord gets no tail,
At least that's what he says to us,
So believe it all we must,
But the shire sheep all smile and wag their tails.
Oh the shire MoA gets no tail,
Though she loves a noble lord,
She craves the Mongol Horde.
Oh, the shire MoA gets no tail.
Oh, the shire Marshall Donal gets no tail,
You see it's hard to love a Scotsman,
Thus, it's seldom that he got some.
Poor Marshall MacRorie gets no tail.
Woe, Ayrbaird MacTavish gets no tail,
Pretty ladies, when you lavish,
Do not ravish poor MacTavish,
Your attentions are too much for one so pale.
Oh, the shire seneschal get no tail,
While she's sighing for a fling,
Her lord's wool-gathering.
Oh, the shire seneschal gets no tail.
My lady Alarba, she gives no tail,
But I'd better say no more,
Lest there break out Holy War!
And hereby bring an end to my tale.
(A scurrilous Scot wrote this doggerel verse:)
The chirurgeon of our shire gets no tail,
Though with a scalpel he's at ease,
He thinks sex is a disease!
The chirurgeon of our shire gets no tail.