Scots Wha Hate
(apologies to Robert Burns)
Scots what hae wi' chips been fed,
Scotch pies, Irn Bru an' pan bread,
Wobble tae an earthy bed,
Or tae surgery.
Smokin' lik a chimney tow'r
Yer tar-bunged lungs lack the pow'r
Tae defluff a dandy-flow'r ...
Cometh the Big C.
Wha'll resist the Buckie crave,
Tae junkie jabs be no slave
An' avoid the glutton's grave?
Let us do or dee.
Wha long for deid kings an' law,
Wha, foolish, ficht o'er fitba',
Poor man wha'd for rich man fa',
Get awa' frae me!
Bigot blood flow through yer veins;
Habits, heirlooms passed tae weans.
Don't let auld blood clog yer brains ...
Then, ye can be free.
Chips on shoulders, there ye go!
Blamin' ev'ryone ye know;
Ye stage such a shameless show.
Where's yer dignity.
(c)Frank Rooney
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