A Swooning Spell

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Ye may push me far n lang quine, but my love for yer sence and devotion of yer bod will las lang till the fires die.

Nae lassie fairer or quine divine will shak the roots o my faith.
Fit wie kan I see ya oot, fit wie can I aye mak ye know, fit wie quine can I gie tae yea mair o me than there is noo.
A wifie far awa, ower the sea near tae me, fit lassie I kneel before, fit lassie I give tae ye.
My fair lassie lie, my fair lassie breathe, my fair lassie I wid travel now, to breathe between yer knees.
Gie ye muckle shove, and muckle pull, gie ye hefty roar and pummel more... Gie it unce, gie it twice.... Lassie, fair muckle ride.

Lassie, wid I lie?

I hivnae shaved, I hiv hair quite wild.. kilt raised up, injin fired.... rough n raw, yer arse I'll skelp and mighty me, the bits I've felt... now aff yer arse and turn ye ower..... theres mair o me and mair tae cum.
A timmid creature, timmerous quine, shakiin there, wriithe in time.
Rough n raw, knees scunnered, arse skelped, a heavin hairy arsed celt at yer door....
Arr shift and nooo, nae mair writhin, noo yer mine.
Skelp yer arse, rough yer breast, smelt yer cum , roughed yer chest a northern loon, fae a chilly toon - nae say raw he cannae mak ye swoon.

A jock in skirts, a pantied loon, mair man than maist, when they come doon.

I've teen ye noo, nae mair fight claiming heritage, claim my right.

You skelped arse bit, I just skelped the arse of Wifie Honey.

A gift from My God of Dust.