Yon Alex lied, crawed Iain Gray,
Wi' his sleekit lang tung o' siller;
Tae the Scots parliament he did say,
That he kenned nocht o' any missin' pris'ner;
But he's found oot, the whey faced knobheid-
That Alex, the parly did no' mislead.
No, wha this tale o' truth shall read,
Ilk man and mother's son take heed;
Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd,
Or Gordon Broon runs barefoot in your mind,
Think! ye may buy joys o'er dear -
Remember Iain Gray's nightmare.
Pure McGonigle. Will be interesting to see if the Gray man has the balls to apologise.ReplyDelete
The poetic art is not dead but alive and well in Scotland.ReplyDelete
Thanks folks, as soon as I posted it I went ARGH.ReplyDelete