Way up high in the Caingorms,
Where the weather's harsh and bleak,
There lives a small wild creature,
That only locals know to seek,
He buries deep in the peaty soil,
You would never know he's there,
Some have hunted for many years,
But just to their despair,
He lurks around the Heather,
And is known to be quite fast,
Some have lost their fingers,
When they've caught him in the past,
His teeth are sharp like razors,
His eyes a develish red,
You hear him squeal when the sun sets,
I've heard him while in bed,
So if you ever go to the Highlands,
To the harsh and bleak Cairngorms,
Don't say you've not been warned now,
If the Haggis shows his forms.
