The poem is influenced by Fergusson's `Caller Oysters', also written in the Standard Habbie stanza, which Burns made his own.
Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, cheerful Great chieftain o' the puddin-race! Aboon them a' ye tak your place, Above Painch, tripe, or thairm: paunch/guts Weel are ye wordy of a grace worthy As lang's my arm. The groaning trencher there ye fill, Your hurdies like a distant hill, buttocks Your pin wad help to mend a mill skewer In time o' need, While thro' your pores the dews distil Like amber bead. His knife see rustic Labour dight, wipe An' cut you up wi' ready sleight, skill Trenching your gushing entrails bright Digging Like onie ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin, rich! -steaming Then, horn for horn, they strech an' strive: spoon Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive, Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve, bellies/soon Are bent like drums; Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive, burst 'Bethanket!' hums. Is there that owre his French ragout Or olio that wad staw a sow, sicken Or fricassee wad mak her spew Wi' perfect sconner, disgust Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view On sic a dinner? Poor devil! see him owre his trash, As feckless as a wither'd rash, weak/rush His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash, His nieve a nit; fist/nut Thro' bluidy flood or field to dash, O how unfit! But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed, The trembling earth resounds his tread. Clap in his walie nieve a blade, choice He'll make it whissle; An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned, trim Like taps o' thrissle. tops/thistle Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care, And dish them out their bill o'fare, Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware watery That jaups in luggies; splashes/porringers But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer, Gie her a Haggis!