Take Me Ol' Galoshes by Katlaughing, Metchosin and Mbo
(Click here for tune)

Confiscate my galoshes
Take my rubbers please
I've done with mucking horse arses
It's come up to my knees

I'd like to hang out in my wellies
In a fine and clover scent
So all the pretty lasses know
That I consider myself a gent

I'm done with currying withers
I'm done with currying ass
The only currying I now want to do
Is for favours with maids in the grass.

Hand me a crop and helmet
I long for much higher ground
I'm not what you think, just because I'm in Pink
I'm off to the hunt and the hound

The rich believe they're deserving their luck
The poor are not quite so sure
They may aspire to the carriage trade
But will still stand knee deep in manure.

A toast now to the Welly
Let their praises ever be sung
For nothing is so uncommonly fine
When scooping up the dung

The King of all the boot race
Who's match have never been met
When rambling from the Highland snow
Or the hills all soggy and wet!

So whether your high or your low-brow
In the company of farm animals or snoots
This one rule you should remember
You will always require you boots.

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