This has no MP3 yet, and I’m not going to do one until I can carry the tune. Never let it be said that Kensson ducks some of the great taboos…
My friends were getting married, it was up I had to smarten
So I went to rent myself a kilt in the Black Watch tartan
But when I got into the shop they were selling off their stock
And if I turned down a bargain, how could I call myself a Scot?
Even with no underwear, everything exposed to air
No underwear, there’s a nice cool breeze down there
When you wear a kilt you must watch out for vents below
For nobody casts hairy Scots as Marilyn Monroe
If you see someone in a kilt, be careful not to mock
He’s bound to have a dagger stuffed into his sock
And no underwear, everything exposed to air
No underwear, there’s a nice cool breeze down there
Doesn’t matter if you’re nobody, or matter if you’re famous
You can’t avoid the dance-floor when they’re playing The Proclaimers
But when you wear a kilt, you must be careful how you dance
And don’t go jumping wildly when you have no underpants
No underwear, everything exposed to air
No underwear, there’s a nice cool breeze down there
To answer that one question often asked south of the border:
There’s nothing worn beneath the kilt, it’s all in working order.
No underwear, everything exposed to air
No underwear, there’s a nice cool breeze down there
Kensson's ramblings 
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