I’d like to welcome all to here,
Thank you for joining in our cheer.
Burns suppers a tradition have,
Dear lads of Thomas More I fear,
I’ve been unkind to you this year.
I know you have our souls at heart,
To list your goodnesses I’ll start.
For fear our vanity will grow,
Attention you will never show.
And if our egos do grow then,
You quickly cut them down again.
On the computer for hours you train,
To keep us safe with might and mane.
What do you fear, what war is this?
Why, the great Zombie apocalypse!
And why through class do you sleep,
And hardly ever make a peep?
We’d be intimidated by your speech,
Your mind’s great heights we’ll never reach.
The only time you speak is when,
You put us in our place again.
In fear we for a moment may,
Think our opinions could hold sway.
You also think we should stay fit,
So while we carry chairs you sit.
Likewise when I have ten books and tea,
you deliberately don’t look at me.
A woman’s virtue is her jewel,
To tempt us with your beauty’s cruel.
And so our purity to save,
You’ve decided that you’ll never bathe.
I’ve made it clear how I adore,
The thoughtful lads of Thomas More.
So now with me, my dear sweet lasses,
Please raise to our bra’ lads your glasses.