She's My Lass

She told me that she was my "Lass" Spoke with confidence and a little sass, Her belief she then did assert As she wore her short tartan skirt. She then walked about me in her kilt I held onto pride and honor and no guilt, Of course she was beautiful and unmarried With a thistle in her hair, she also carried. She began to become a little brassy As she exclaimed to all that she was my Lassie, While wearing her tartan dress To all, especially me she did impress. Again she made her boasting claim And if I denied her, only myself could I blame, As she drank some hooch in a glass Then with a kiss she confirmed, she was my lass. Randy L. McClave