The Rising Bum
There is a man in Pitlochry,
They call him the Rising Bum
And he's lifted his kilt more than I know
And made the children run.
His tartan's of McTwatem though,
And his wife's one of the Queens
But that doesn't stop him flashing off his bits
And flaunting his knobbly knees.
Some say he is a great hero,
Some say he's awfully good
At killing all Fomorri foe
With a wardrobe made of wood.
I've heard he is a humble man,
He's the meekest of the lot.
Whoever told me this should be
Taken outside and shot.
He's meant to be invincible,
A champion through and through.
He'd beat the lot with axe or sword,
But he cannot take his brew.
He tells tall tales or so I've heard
Of valiant deeds afar,
But if danger calls you'll find this man
A-propping up the bar.
He takes all opportunities
To lift his kilt atop
And people try to avoid the sight
Of the last chicken in the shop.
There is a man in Pitlochry,
They call him the Rising Bum
And he's lifted his kilt more than I know
And made the children run.
All Works are © Original Author
(OC Author - Paul Harrison)