Being Scots is a' abooot being rooomantic and sensitive, ken. And we have a grrrreat poet, name of Rabbie Burrrrrrns. Herrrre's the big man's masterrrrpiece, which brrrrings a tearrr to me eye everrrry time:

Ode Tae A Fart

Oh what a sleekit horrible beastie
Lurks in your belly efter the feastie
Just as ye sit doon among yer kin
There sterts to stir an enormous wind
The neeps and tatties and mushy peas
Stert workin like a gentle breeze
But soon the puddin wi the sauncie face
Will have ye blawin all ower the place

Nae matter whit the hell ye dae
A'body's gonnae hiv tae pay
Even if ye try tae stifle
It's like a bullet oot a rifle
Hawd yer bum tight tae the chair
Tae try and stop the leakin air
Shifty yersel fae cheek tae cheek
Prae tae God it doesnae reek

But aw yer efforts go assunder
Oot it comes like a clap o thunder
Ricochets aroon the room
Michty me a sonic boom
God almighty it fairly reeks
Hope I huvnae shit my breeks
Tae the bog I better scurry
Aw whit the hell it's no ma worry

A'body roon aboot me chokin
Wan or two are nearly bokin
I'll feel better for a while
Cannae help but raise a smile
Wiz him! I shout with accusin glower
Alas too late, he's just keeled ower
Ye dirty bugger they shout and stare
A dinnae feel welcome any mair

Where e'ere ye go let yer wind gan’ free
Sounds like just the job fur me
Whit a fuss at rabbie's party
Ower the sake o one wee farty