Updated: Feb 18
Listen here you candy floss twat,
it’s no the cakes that made me fat;
naw, only the best of Scottish lamb,
reared in the best of Scottish land.
Land, you bastards would love to own,
tae rob us of our farms and homes.
Thank God for devolution and aw it brings;
independence is as sure as the nightingale sings.
Ye canna fool the Scots forever ye know,
before they realise hot air is whit ye blow.
Wha wha wha, the fastness growing economy
tae deflect fae the fact that ye urny sorry
for the parties, the bribes and the careless words;
here’s wan fur you-you’re a big fat turd.
Think about that when yer sitting in Chequers,
Wi yer rich pals who are buying your favours.
Your time is coming when you’ll be evicted
Fae yer grace and favour, and ye won’t be pitied.
Naw, across the country, will be street parties,
shouting ‘Boris has gone’, as they’re laughing and dancing.
Yer a heartless bastard and you’ve caused such chaos
in our land, in the house, that I never thought possible.
You’re a hopeless case made to believe by Eton that
the world and everything in it is there for the taking.