BAD KING DONALD By Bob Smith.
(Ti be sung ti the tune o Good King Wenceslas)
Ower his course at Menie
Fog an haar wis aa aboot
Fowk widna spend a penny
Tho’ brichtly shone the harbour lichts
Ye couldna see them twinkle
Syne a puir chiel hove in sicht
On dunes wis haein a tinkle
Hither Dod an stan by me
Disobey me at yer peril
Ging an see fit he micht wint
He maybe could be feral
Sire he bides jist doon the wye
Thon fishermannie fae Menie
Faa widna sell his hoose ti ye
An refused’ti tak a penny
Ging an see fit he dis wint
I dinna like trespassin
Fit a peety the cooncil says
The stocks are oot o fashion
Donald an Dod they strode oot
Haun an haun tigither
Peerin throwe the fog an haar
Causin them great bither
Dod he says noo tak yer time
An note faar ye are gyaan
Watch faar ye div pit yer feet
In case ye micht be faain
Dod ye are a fearty gowk
I ken fit I am deein
Tho’ it micht be foggy kine
An afen we’re nae seein’
Dod in maister’s steps he trod
Tho’ he thocht it crazy
Nivver a wird he did spik
Aathin’it wis hazy
Syne they saw an ootline shape
Near the salty brine so
Fin they got a bittie close
It was jist a wind turbine tho’
Sire,the mannie we hiv missed
In the haar he’s hidden
He’ll be back in his hame
The een ye ca a midden
Dammit Dod I’m fair pit oot
In fact I’m bliddy hissin
The mannie his nae richt ye see
On my dunes ti be pissin
©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2010