My love is like . . . not Robbie Burns,
That randy rhyming sot,
Though Edinburgh’s where he earns
His massive pension pot.
No ex-Sir Fred, he scents a deal,
But dodges duff Dutch banks,
And Murdoch’s muck-sheets can’t reveal
Bent friends, or drug-fuelled pranks.
Our partnership, rock-solid, rich,
Its bonds by no means junk,
Outshines the RBS, in which
Our taxes have been sunk.
O Caledonia, viewed with bile
For gambling with our pound,
At least along the Royal Mile
One union’s yet sound!
Last edited by Jerome Betts; 02-05-2012 at 06:21 AM.
Reason: Typo
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