Robert Burns 
Fair fa’ yer honest sonsie face 
Aboon them a’ ye tak your place
Warm, reekin, rich 
Hurdies like a distant hill 
What a glorious sight 
The rustic haggis fed 
Auld guidman 
thro’ your pores the dews distil
Neeps 1 – 0 Sweden 
His knife, see rustic labour deight… 
and cut you up with ready slight
