Tuesday, 1 April 2014




so you wanna log off eh
leave us to them bastards
well here's to taking the shortcake
just wait till you're shy of a bobbie
never mind all the oil that's gone anyway
you'll be back bark my words Walter
MacDoughnut or whatever you caber-tossing
call yourself in scrutable Glaswegian
double Dutch with a single Maltese
clear as a crock of black and tans

now Braveheart that film done by the distinguished
racist what does freedom mean anyroad
using terms like Mick and Scouse not kyke or spic
no offence officer just broadcasting
how language divergence gives a rise
to cowardly ranters & chancers of hate
while putting down common folk as clowns & fools
wasn't it Yeats himself said cocks to moorcocks
call as the stream divides at rascal rock
whatever the kicked beauty of liberty's ball
all we hear are the racy sirens
droning from the terraces of either side
okay you win take your mascots with you'll
see if we care when your new friends have moved in

and there you have it independence night
what a riot that'll be kilts hung out
on Princess Street underpass bared to the moon
the bridewells too will be full let's be honest
as many jocks banged up for the duration
as takes to sort a hunter from the herdsmen
from god's speed to mainline heroine
those without eyes fixed on Waverley
will curse the perfidious Sassanach
one last time for letting the cattle out


where would we be now hadn't Scott Watt
Janet Cameron young Finlay & all come down
from high & low to England's rushy glens

serious moment when James the sixth hit town
one fell scotch and the whole craft
of English poetry stroke religion was sorted

aye the Stuarts were scarcely as alien
as those jacobiting Hanoverians always waving
their darned arms about like spoilt children

who but Edinburgh lads had clipped Latin ears
slapped Oxbridge saddles on Greek donkeys and cursed
it was the boilers of the ship needed stroking
stuck full square to the guns while the rest of Europe
sank into its own black hole of Midlothian

aye we've had our moments have we not
from the heights of Abraham to the Khyber pass
covering each other's backsides but all that's past

nowadays the world's no bed of oysters
no mess of pottage to trade in gimcrack
for blood unlike treasure cannot be repaid

Britannia's colours a symbol of peace huh
scorned by the west pirated in the east
waved like handbags plastered on shorts
red rags to bullshit & anthems to a deaf horse

six Georges slayed no dragons just Franks in chains
their banner stripped of its Kojak
by Irish rebellion and Welsh exclusion
caught in the cross-hairs of star-crossed martyrs

and so we turn to the future for better
or worse to spread the costs of these blasted isles
four tribes crammed into a split level condominium

a pity the world don't get to choose who stays on
what goes down a reality show to tune in
vote out your rantings please on twitter

and what about the views of ex-pats
migrants turfed out of crofts and lofts
that never forgot who owes what and don't
neglect to mention Gloucester or Kent in the
division of the kingdom what's poetry
for if not to warn us of her story beware
of Trojan ponies and other Ponzi schemes
to get rich quick and be your neighbour's envy


right lads let's drink one last to the oldest lineup
of conspirators the modern world has had the pleasure
who may not be perfect certainly not saintly

here we come this formidable bunch of lags
marching left right & centre forward
in step out of step on your lady's chamber
asking respectfully Ma'am and in deference
to familiarity with supreme
permission to splice the mainbrace

a toast please raise your glasses ladies gents
boys & girls everyone in the audience
all stand piper strike up the pentatonic
should awld acquaintance be forgot we'll take one
cup of kindness still for the sake of old lang's ayne

as if we didn't now that England ain't done
yet it'll take more than Dad's Army to sort
out this porridge Pike Frazer you're in charge

for those not in on the joke I'll deconstruct
that last verse hell no postmodernism sucks
suffice to say the English will survive

like hell Scotland don't you realise
south of the border they're hooked on steroids
one word from Finlay and down comes Cameron's foot

that's it you're off the snake oil old man
cut to casebook thirty-nine Janet they're saying
you gave birth to Lulu in the village shop not
important Scottish women mark these words
it's time the world's worst secret was overheard

they've always left you nix and you'll get
even less when your party dress is pawned
to drown the baby out with stout
play the English lass florid nightingales
and sing them off their pretty Pomeranians

they were still ironing the curtain when
I was in Berlin before it all came down
no place to observe the fall of Ms Brodie
old Hadrian himself was haunting the battlements
you could hear the heathen cry when they stripped him
of his golden togs and tossed them over the wall

usquebaugh Janet yer man's still on the go stay
put and sup one more cup with Tom before you blow
Sock puppeteer
Afore Ye Go!