I'll Tell You a Tale of a Wife

 I'll tell you a tale of a Wife, And she was a Whig and a Saunt; She liv'd a most sanctify'd life, But whyles she was fash'd wi her cunt. Poor woman! She gaed to the Priest, And till him she made her complaint; 'There's naething that troubles my breast Sae sair as the sins of my cunt'. 'Sin that I was herdin at hame, Till now I'm three score and ayont, I own it wi' sin and wi' shame I've led a sad life wi' my cunt'. He bade her to clear up her brow, And no be discourag'd upon 't; For holy gude women enow Were mony times waur't wi' their cunt. It's naught but Beelzebub's art, But that's the mair sign of a saunt, He kens that ye're pure at the heart, Sae levels his darts at your cunt. What signifies Morals and Works, Our works are no wordy a runt! It's Faith that is sound, orthodox, That covers the fauts o' your cunt. Were ye o' the Reprobate race Created to sin and be brunt, O then it would alter the case If ye should gae wrang wi' your cunt. But you that is Called and Free Elekit and chosen a saunt, Will't break the Eternal Decree Whatever ye do wi' your cunt? And now with a sanctify'd kiss Let's kneel and renew covenant: It's this - and it's this - and it's this That settles the pride o' your cunt. Devotion blew up to a flame; No words can do justice upon't; The honest auld woman gaed hame Rejoicing and clawin her cunt. Then high to her memory charge; And may he who takes it affront, Still ride in Love's channel at large, And never make port in a cunt!!!