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!!!