Reply to the Laddies

My love is like a red red rosé
Said Burns to all the wimmin
His gift in turn was just a dose
Of clap, Oh God in heaven
Protect us ladies from the charms
Of men who think they're cute
And give us strength to keep at arms
And aim a well placed boot.

Wee sleeket, cowran, tim'rous beastie
Burns ode was to a mouse
But it could read, a man, not leastly
That type we call a louse
They let us think we wear the pants
Until we are their spouse
So ladies let us all be warned
Make sure you own the house.

Now men we don't think you're all bad
We're sure you have your uses
We just hate it when you play the lad
Followed up with poor excuses
Its not our fault,  or so you said
We men, we have our needs
But if you want back to our bed
This warning you shall heed.

He died young did Rabbie, aged 37
Rheumatic fever they said.
Had nothing to do with the drink of course
Or the salacious life he led.
Many wimmin he had and twelve children were born
A wonder he didn’t die sooner
Follow his footsteps and what you’ll become
Is a modern day skanky crooner.

The evidence, now so clearly is
We ladies, to the letter
Know the greatest men that ever lived
Had women who were better
But don't despair, for all our chat
We know you do your best
A mans a man for a'that
But how we like to jest.