Here’s a reply to the laddies
For you know men urnae aw baddies
There’s many things that women can do
That men cannae
Like gie birth while wearing false eyelashes
While yer man’s crying like a fanny

Ma mammy could use a sandal as a weapon
And control the hoose as she made soup
Ma daddy couldnae figure oot how to jump through that hoop
He tried and he failed but men are great too

Daddies and grandas – we aw had a few
Who knew the score, who came to the fore
When women needed the hauners
Now imagine if Burns was alive in these corners

If Burns were here in covid times
If Burns was still in oor life
He’d be giving us all of his rhymes
And runnin away fae a wife

He’d hate to be woke
Haw haw – that’d gie him the boke
He’d be in the street wearing a mask
He’d be on twitter
Taking twits to task
He’d ca’ big Boris a bam
He’d be using words like ‘bo’ and ‘fam’

He’d have a TikTok dance that went viral
He’d get cancelled for using the biro
For writin’ doon wurds that upset the burds
But he wouldnae care
He’d double doon and ca’ them fuds

He’d fight wi trolls and call them beasties
He’d have to keep explaining the word ‘breasties’
He’d be on telly on a comedy panel
Hittin’ them wi all his flannel
He’d have a huge following on his YouTube channel

Influencers would scowl at his heels
And his poems would give us all the feels
Facebook would ban him every day
As he tried to get oot what he wanted to say
The internet would be upended
Oh everybody would be offended

They’d scream at his words as he tickled the burds
And laugh as he shoutit, ‘No hell mended’
Burns would have his ain website
Wi a chat room for lassies alone
And the snowflakes would shout and scream no doubt
Like a pompous wee dug wi a bone

But he’d laugh in their face and he’d say,
‘Am no fae this place
I’m fae a time when a rose was a rose.
You aw hate me now and ye caw me a sow
But you’ll need me when ye want ti propose.’

An’ he’s right
Burns had foresight
Men and wimmen have changed since his day
And I’m sure we can see that now
But, aw, to be winched by a man
Rough in the field
Writin’ poems over a plough

So let’s all raise our glasses
To the lads and the lassies
who made Burns’s heart beat so loud