Wee, sleekit, glowerin’, troublous Darling, O what a panic’s set thee snarling! Thy bare-faced claims we can’t use sterling Dinna convince. The imprecations thou keep’st hurling Are full o’ mince. I ken wherefore thou art sae crabbit, Thy fizzog like a startled rabbit, Thy point of view sae parched and scabbit, Thine aspect grim. Faith! Thou maun earn a handsome habit Wi’ ermine trim. I doubt na but thy denigration O’ Scotia’s self-determination Is based on wild imagination, Or pauchlin’ lies! Such mischief bears its indication In blinkin’ eyes. Thy Project Fear has fallen tae ruin! The Cybernats gave it a doin’, Noo all deride its idle spewin’ O’ stories strange, And bold September’s wind’s ensuin’: The wind o’ change! Thou saw Carmichael, bare and wast, And moothy Sarwar, speakin’ fast, And Michael Moore, in ancient past, For mercy plead, By Nicola’s scything wit outclassed And left for deid. O Grand Panjandrum o’ Finance, Wha reads White Papers at a glance, Whose style o’ banking governance Was fair found wantin’, It’s nae surprise we look askance At a’ thy rantin’! Gowk, thou maun learn the lesson plain: Thy negativity is vain, Awa’ back hame and think again, Thy scheme’s agley. An’ nought remains but grief and pain On voting day! How drab thy lot, compared wi’ me! Westminster only toucheth thee, And, as I backward cast my e’e, It turns tae dust, While forward, though I canna see,
Posted on: Sun, 26 Jan 2014 18:21:22 +0000
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