Jan 242013
By Bob Smith.
| Menie’s a mess, A hiv tae confess Trumpie’s coorse his an extra hole Near the 4th tee, Fit a tae dee Mither Naitur his noo teen her toll . A’m nae aat surprised, The chiel wis advised Nae tae meddle wi the shiftin sands Trump stuck oot his chest, Sayin a ken fit’s best Bit watter’s teen things oot his hans . Like King Canute, The Donald fun oot Watter it aye his the last say If yer drains are nae gweed, An they stairt tae ”bleed” Wee burns they flow like the Tay . Noo a wee narra road, Tae the Munro’s abode Is churned up wi mud an potholes Efter larries fae afar, Hid roched up the tar Ye’d think there’d bin an invasion o moles |
Amang aa the dunes, Lurk Trumpie’s big goons They mak yer waak richt fractious Fin they div folla, Ower hump an holla, An maybe use ye as target practice . It’s plain tae see, Aat the orra numptie Hisna heard o the “Richt tae roam” Wull The Donald desire, Tae erect barbed wire As at the mooth he dis foam . So Trumpie ma freen, If advice ye’d teen An the shiftin dunes ye’d by-passed Aathing micht hae bin fine, If ye’d shifted the line O yer gowf coorse a wee bittie wast . Bit fowk like yersel, Fowk nivver can tell So Donald ye’ll learn the hard wye Mither Naitur she rules, Ower eejits an fules An fowk faa think they’re richt fly. |
©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2013