Donald Where'S Your Trousers?

For many hundreds of years in the highlands of Scotland
Men have given up wearing trousers
And have taken to wearin' the skirts, or the kilts
But nevertheless, these kilted boys in the last war
Were named "The Ladies from Hell"
So you have to be terrible careful
If you ever get curious about the kilts
Never ask them, "Donald, where's your trousers?"

Let the wind blow high, let the wind blow low
Through the streets in my kilt I'll go
All the lassies say hello
Donald, where's your trousers?

I've just come down from the isle of Skye
I'm no very big an' I'm awfully shy
The lassies say as I go by
"Donald, where's your trousers?"

Let the wind blow high, let the wind blow low
Through the streets in my kilt I'll go
All the lassies say hello
Donald, where's your trousers?

To a fancy ball
And it was slippery in the hall
And I was feared that I might fall
'Cause I hadn't me on me trousers

Let the wind blow high, let the wind blow low
Through the streets in my kilt I'll go
All the lassies say hello
Donald, where's your trousers?

Let the wind blow high, let the wind blow low
Through the streets in my kilt I'll go
All the lassies say hello
Donald, where's your trousers?

Now I went down to London Town
To have a little fun on the underground
The ladies turn their heads around
Saying, "Donald, where are your trousers?"

Let the wind blow high, let the wind blow low
Through the streets in my kilt I'll go
All the lassies say hello
Donald, where's your trousers?

The lassies love me, every one
But let them catch me if they can
You canna' take the breaks off a Highland man
Say, "Donald, where's your trousers?"

Let the wind blow high, let the wind blow low
Through the streets in my kilt I'll go
All the lassies say hello
Donald, where's your trousers?
Donald, where's your trousers?