Yon Perfect Southern Lass

Yon Perfect Southern Lass

Through all my youth Dunedin toon has been sae fu‘ of beauty,
Tae find that paragon sae fair, has been ma bounden duty.
Ah‘ve lo‘ed them a‘, and tracked them doon, thro' daylight hoors an‘ darkness,
And when they‘re in my arms again, I‘ve marvelled at their starkness.

The perfect lass, Ah‘ll tell ye noo, my memory‘s fast recedin‘,
Is made from mony a charmer frae the suburbs o‘ Dunedin.
And as I sit at Stuart‘s foot, my back turned on the kirkin‘,
Ah‘ll put her all togither, as my mind like fever‘s workin‘.

Her hair belonged to Mosgiel‘s Jean, whose lovely auburn tresses,
Wad make me wish she lived in toon, at handier addresses.
Her eyes belonged to Caversham, where Alice lived in splendour,
She only had to open them, to have me sigh so tender.

Her ankles are from Woodhaugh‘s Claire, and as I walked behind her,
She need not turn her face to me, those well-turned pins would find her.
The hips and thighs of ample Sal, who wooed me round St Kilda,
Were all the contours I traversed, with heavenly form they filled her.

Anither love was Roslyn‘s Rose, her waist and bosom famous,
And when a lass has parts like that, it‘s simple fare to tame us.
The lips belonged to Belleknowes Jane, her kiss was so inviting,
I couldna stop at ane alone, my fervent needs requiting.

The twinkling feet and lively legs were Caversham‘s Ramona‘s,
We‘d dance sae crazy, all oor friends were ready to disown us.
The slinky arms from Maori Hill belonged to little Mavis,
As roond ma neck they slid their way; ‘twould take a prayer to save us.
And last, those hands, that precious touch, of Olive from the City,
Her magic fingers twined in mine, to leave her was a pity.

But the most essential item of this fine eclectic creature,
Is the mind which ticks within her; it‘s her all-important feature.
As Dunedin men admire her from her head down to her toes,
May the brain of Mayor Sukhinder now direct her as she goes.

So get your mindies working, and just weave this wondrous being,
And as I sit here; face the pub; you‘ll doubtless be agreeing.
In man‘s imagination you can take it all in turns,
To walk aboot the Octagon wi' the girl of Robbie Burns.

by Stan Jelley

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