The Lassie Tae Her Disca Winch (A warnin’ sprung fae remembrances eh the poet).

Sometimes when a lass heads oot
She likes tae pit hersel’ aboot
An’ git aff wae a big braw boay;
Tall, dark and strong.
However lassies, listen weel
Tae ma wee song.

Fur aften when yir staunin’ there,
Wae his hauns gawn through yir hair,
Ye wonner jist exactly when
He’ll stoap fur air.
Alas, sometimes the disca winch
Wants mare an’ mare.

He’s pure gaun fur it, loakin’ lips;
Ye wish ye’d ne’er groped his hips,
Fur noo yiv gaun an’ goat yirsel’ a bloody lumber.
Ye better pray he isnae hopin’
Fur yir number.

A thoosan’ thoughts gae through yir heid
– “He must’ve come withoot a feed!”
He’s fillin’ up his wee mooth wae yir smeekit face.
Drippin’ slevers everywhere:
Whit a disgrace.

Oach ma lass, yir in a guddle;
It looks like noo he wahnts a cuddle,
Yir freens huv loang since pished themselves
Et this romance.
Tryin’ tae escape yir man?
Yiv goat nae chance.

An’ noo his hauns are headin’ doon,
Gaun fur yir erse an’ aw aroon’;
Ye stagger back an’ stert tae look Aboot fur aid.
But naebdy gees a fleein’ shite:
This mess yiv made.

Ye turn an’ twist yir boady roon’;
He hinks yir dancin’ tae the tune.
Aw Goad, yir gettin’ set tae boot
His manly pair.
Why could he no huv winched that lassie
Ower there?!

But noo ye cannae play pretend;
Yiv hud enough, he’s no yir friend.
It’s time tae act or oan his mooth
Three ‘oors yull spend.
Ye ken that only if yir cruel
Will this winch end.

Just then ye spoat the DJ man,
An’ suddenly ye hatch a plan.
His decks huv goat a daft wee smoke machine inside.
At last – salvation! In this puff
Ye mean tae hide.

Yir filled wae rare anticipation
An’ wait fur foggy liberation;
A puff comes oot an’ right fills up
The perty place.
Noo! Seize yir chance! Detach yersel’
Fae this yin’s face!

Giddy wae yir freedom noo,
Yiv sobered up; no longer foo.
Yir mooth feels like it’s worked an’ slaved a twelve ‘oor shift.
Ye cry “Thank Goad!” an’ slink awa’:
Yir winch is miffed.

Sae jist be warned, this situation
Can spring fae great inebriation,
Fur et a certain point ye risk the fearfu’ clinch.
Yull go fur oany daft wee boay:
A disca winch.

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