“Boys, your battle plaids lay ready.
Nowt's left to do
but to coat them kilts with jam."
but to coat them kilts with jam."
So: gel the tartans!
(Wow! 'Tis leavin’ me unsteady,
(Wow! 'Tis leavin’ me unsteady,
all this marmalade. Are you light-headed…?
Yowza! I sure am.)
Moral:
Race war…? No, Moor!