Thanks to Bubbly Jock, who ever and wherever he is!
Wee sliprous, slitherous beasties,
What ambition’s in thy breasties,
But no’ for me, nor oor salvation,
A’ we’ll ken is your damnation.
Eckie on the stane o’Scone,
Wi’ ye smirkin’ on the mound,
An’ we a’ left tae splunge an’ droon,
In a sea o’ promises unfound!
I’m sore vexed that your curmudgeon,
Has us a’ in such high dudgeon,
Ye only want tae sell my soul,
Tae fill your boots wi’ North Sea gold.
But, Natties, I’ll ne’er greet for thee,
When at last we’ve a’ woken,
Your rogues’ scheme for a’ and me,
Oor Nation broken!
Noo I just wish for harmony,
Wi’ a’ my friends, wi’ family,
Wi’ my neighbours in oor streets,
No clawin’ at each others’ throats.
If oh that God the gift would gie ye,
Tae see yersel, tae see our views,
Ye’re just beasties squat an’ slimy,
Scotland’s shame in tartan trews!