To a Salmond (with apologies to the boy Burns)

Wee sleekit, prattling, puffed-up runt.
I think your pride is due a dunt.
Ye’re fu’ o’keech. Wi mony a stunt,
Ye spew yer hate.
But dinnae rush to get the bunt-
ing oot just yet.

I’m wise tae ye, my little mannie.
Though sycophants declare ye canny,
To me, ye’re just a great big fanny,
Worse than a midge.
I vow ye’d try to sell yer granny
The Forth Road Bridge.

Then hauld your vote and dae your worst.
For still I hope your cause is cursed.
Though Saxon, Celt or Viking first,
We’re a’ prood Brits.
Let’s keep the Union undispersed
By noisesome tits.


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