My grandfather taught me this one when I was 14 or 15. Told me not to tell my mother. I remembered all but the third stanza-(i had to go dig it out; had written it down long ago.)
It is ok to rewrite- not off color.
The was an old man of the isles
Who suffered severely from piles
He couldn’t sit down
Without a deep frown
So he had to row standing for miles
A Scotland castle, bleak. Says the host,
"To all my ancestors, a toast!"
The front door opens wide
And enters there inside
A gust! A guest aghast! A Ghost!
Catriona, a pretty young lass
Had a truly magnificent ***
Not rounded and pink
As you possibly think
It was grey, had long ears, and ate grass.
Is fheàrr fheuchainn na bhith san dùil.
Tis better to try than to hope.
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