Or the Kilt?
It's like asking any other question - there simply is no answer.
This was the address to the so-called Festival of Darkness in 2016.
Yet mair outrageous is this night still
A deeper horror than in blood sports
Where winter nurses his unrejoicing chill
And whistles up Burnett's airy shorts.
Tthe driving tempest does not care
For the tenants of Burnett's underwear
And with dangling ice all horrid stalks forlorn
His naked legs whereon he wishes langer troos were worn
Thitcher, dreadful down Burnett's shorts must prepare
And watch them strict - - lang breeks Burnett - -
Noo cauldrife winter says you must wear.
And on the icy whirlwinds song
The cruel season gathers round,
Spring - - Summer - - gone - -
and in the gloomy Festival of Darkness
Lang troosers up - - short troosers doon!
Burnett's Lament Tae His Shorts
Eence waurin, fowerlaurin the shorts lie heapit aunn the Ramsay flair
The mighty reservwerrs o my legs, fegs! wear bare upon the air
Lang troosers noo, alas in darkness caul serile stars glitternin as quartz
Oh thou, whose depression swims in winter's swill bring on the spring, an m'ain return tae shorts.
I had the privelege of singing this song in front of the provisionally named Cauld Stane Slap.