Take the liver of the sheep,
Take the heart too,
And the stomach and lungs,
It’ll no miss them the noo.

Grab your pot,
And stick in the lot,
Liver, heart and the lungs to stew,
Simmer for twa hours or till done,
Remove from the pot sit it on its bum.

Now it’s time to chop and mix,
Grab all the bits and finely dice,
Liver, heart and lungs suffice,
Onion oats and suet, in a bowl we mix,
Seasoned whispers—salt, nutmeg, pepper fix.

In a pot so deep, our journey starts,
Gather ’round with hungry hearts,
A humble meal from Scotland’s pride,
Where artistry and texture coincide.
In that pot let the water boil,
Now grab all ingredients and don’t recoil,
Add the mixture, stir with glee,
The Haggis is about to be set free.

Now grab yer stomach, no yours but the sheeps,
And with meat and spice bring together to complete,
Seal it up with needle and thread,
You’re nearly there no need to dread,
Make it tight but then prick the skin,
You don’t want that wee haggis explodin”
Fill it up, but leave some space
Bring it back to life in the waters warm embrace.

When the time is right and the colour is fine,
Remove the Haggis and be gentle this time,
Sitting on the plate steam rising high,
And the delicious aroma travels through the sky.

To accompany we need the neeps and tatties,
We need some whisky too,
And if you want to do it right,
A few words from you know who?
For haggis made with heart and hand,
Is a taste of history, a feast so grand.
That Robert Burns told it so,
That on the 25th January when we celebrate the Bard,
And the Haggis is front and centre,
And is piped into place,
Why?
Because he is the Chieftain of the Pudding race.