Curse of Scotland (or 'Somewhere Else') . . . .

I was born and bred in Scotland, and I’m very proud to be,
a native of this country, where the air is clean and free.
It’s fine to be in Scotland, but the itch is gettin’ worse
For out among the countryside, I met wi’ Scotland’s curse

It hides among the bushes, and it lurks among the grass,
Beside the Loch and up the hill, it waits for you to pass.
The one that’s first to find you, soon will tell three million more.
And suddenly the swarm descends, each one a carnivore.

Quite soon they’re getting in your hair, and always up your nose,
And in your ears and in your eyes, and underneath your clothes.
They’ll suck your blood and soon those itchy, spots will start to swell.
The spots join up when you’re in bed, you’ll think you’ve gone to hell.

So you’ll go and ask the chemist for the latest kind of spray.
That’s tried and tested, even proved, to keep the pest away.
And plastered ower wi’ midgey cream, that smells so very bad,
You’ll flap your arms and run around, and act as if you’re mad

You’ll button up your clothes, and buy, the famous midgey hood,
It’s guaranteed to stop you, from becoming midgey food.
But save yourself the trouble, for the time will come to pass,
when a midge will crawl right up your leg, and bite you on the Knee.

The tourists often wonder why, the kilt is seldom seen,
And Scottish accent never heard, in places they have been.
For at winter’s end, the Scots all go to Teneriffe, or Spain.
And they leave behind the midges, and the cold, and wind, and rain.