Twas nae mair truth than myth (or so we’re telt)
As mists o’ time obscure whit clansmen say
Twas no a murdrin’ cannibal, jist ‘Celt’
This Son o’ Girvan an o’ Ballantrae
The tale as spun concerned one ‘Sawney Bean’
A ne’er-do-well who frown’d on honest toil
Didst tak a wife (mair witch than beauty Queen)
Who help’d dismember an some bodies boil
Twixt coastal caves near ‘Bennane Head’ they dwell’d
Tae raise eight Sons, six Daughters an their weans
Left undiscovered till someone rappell’d
Down face o’ cliff tae find heap’d bones an brains
Tho slant fae o’er the wall may hurt oor pride
If hunger strikes, “Yoos English” woe betide