The morning rises grey and still The fog is drifting on the hill A legend wakes within the peat With fur and snoot and tiny feet. He is the king of highland ground Though he represents a humble mound One uneven leg to stand The Haggis roams across the land. He sniffs the air He knows the sign The scent of parsnip Wild and fine. A noble quest Through mist and bog The tiny shadow In the fog. It hides beneath the frozen earth A root of great and tasty worth The Haggis twitching at the nose He follows where the aroma goes. No fox nor hound can match his pace When parsnips call him to the chase A bite so crisp A snap so sweet The legendary breakfast treat. He sniffs the air He knows the sign The scent of parsnip Wild and fine. A noble quest Through mist and bog The tiny shadow In the fog. The mist returns The hills are deep The Haggis has a hill to keep. On he walks. On he walks.
