“…just what I choose it to mean – neither more nor less.”

Nimpty Dimpty sat on a bench
Nimpty Dimpty smothered the stench
All the bent titles and compromised men
Stayed in their places to do it again.

 

 

The Scrumblin’ Drummels

The Scrumblin’ Drummels pooned the gleeks

Whiles doon the braes wi skerkin’ skeeks

Cam’ mony a gleuch wi ilka reeks

Tae richt the wrang

Done tae the thrang.

(Which they made up

As they went alang.)

 

Fae Grink and Salluch cam the ca’

“We’re aye the Plurks! Bram Plurks, scrumb aw

The crampon dwirgs wha’d dare tae quaw

Oor righteous thrang.

For they are wrang!”

(This, tae, made up

As they went alang.)

 

Tae Drummels flert, enmourged in droof

Sic burks laun’t flence as plootered croof

And syne all Scrotch did stunch their stooph

On fear ay fang

Tae richt the wrang.

(Which they made up

As they went alang.)

 

E’en Drummels brilt, in flectic squilt

Did hink whit Grink and Salluch trilt

Regarding ne’er the mongeous shilt

But onwart sang

Auld Grinky’s wrang.

(Which he’d made up

As he went alang.)

 

Sic michty Scrotitch flej ay dink

Now gares the gleeks tae geech the strink.

Whiles falloch a skintel trouths a trink

Tae cowe the thrang.

And blunt the fang.

And cry the richt.

And cry the wrang.

 

posmill

‘TWAS AW BECAUSE

“Craig Whyte is the man responsible for Rangers’ downfall…”

– James Traynor, Daily Record, 25^th October, 2012

 

’TWAS AW BECAUSE

I’m not tae clear on mony things,

Like how tae read the lasses-o.

Awhiles it’s, “Dinnae point yer ding!”

Awhiles it’s hugs and kisses-o.

But dinnae tell me black is white,

Or snakes are warm and furry-o,

Or Rangers died because ay Whyte.

They died because ay Murray-o.

Chorus:

Oh Murray-o, yes Murray-o, they died because ay Murray-o.

He ran the scheme that killed the team,

And vanished in a hurry-o.

I’ve made the odd financial faux,

But honest wans, I swear-io.

Like letting baith oor savings go,

Tae yon prince in Nigeri-o.

But dinnae tell me left is right,

Or Motherwell is Monaco,

Or Rangers died because ay White.

They died because ay Murray-o.

Chorus:

I trust that adverts tell the trowth,

That buns’ feet can be lucky-o,

And B&Q sells tartan paint.

I bocht the Brooklyn Bridge ye know!

But dinnae tell me spots are stripes,

Or IOUs are money-o,

Or Rangers died because ay Whight,

They died because ay Murray-o.

Chorus:

I hae been kent tae tip a gless,

And fegs, awhiles get hazy-o.

And fegs, awhiles get aff ma gourd,

But fegs, I am nae crazy-o.

So dinnae tell me day is night,

Or steamin’ keich is curry-o,

Or Sevco lives because ay Whijt.

It lives because ay Murray-o.

Oh Murray-o, yes Murray-o, it lives because ay Murray-o.

God save the Queen, and Whyte, and Green,

And God bless minty Murray-o.

– posmill

The Laird o’ Baw

THE LAIRD o’ BAW

The Laird o’ Baw, tae grease his scam

Did jam the journos’ jowls wi’ lamb.

And as the saim slid doon their semmits

Thus decreed their scrawly limits:

“Bleat alood the things I say

But dinnae fash oan whit I dae.

Unless the thing I’ve done, I’ve said

Then, honest scribblers, go ahead!

But mind yes dinnae dig tae deep

Or let a question fae yes peep

Just print my Word, no more, no less.

Awright, well, more’s okay I guess.

And those who might discern a void

Tween truth and Word, call “Paranoid!”

I will nae thole sic shrill, sham thoughts

Or be defied by dreich bampots.

Now, should the keich e’er skite the metal

Mynd well yer aye my sonsie hirsel!

I’ll tell yes what tae moot and print

As sure’s my name’s a kind of mint.

For if it comes oot whit I’m doin!

It’s no’ jist me – ye’ll aw be ruined!”

He mopped his brow then wi’ a rag

(I think it wis an Irish flag.)

“Good, friends,” he growled, “I’m awfy sorry

I dinnae mean tae make yes worry.”

“It’s just some banter, man to man

Where is that fuckin’ shredder van?”

“Eat, youse!” he barked, and eat they did.

And not a wan amang them chewed.

Then, in one voice, which he had boaght

They rammed his Words doon Scotland’s throat.

– posmill