The McConnell Log
Some smart Alex once said that Scotland will only be free when the last minister of the Kirk is strangled with the last copy of The Sunday Post. Now, thanks to Jack Topaz McConnell, that has all changed. Now they say that Scotland will only be free when the First Minister is strangled. Wee Jack, however, is much more than mere politician. Unknown to many of his countrymen, he is also poet and tragedian. For better and for verse. Much, much verse. Here, in a style owing much to lauded predecessors such as Burns, McGonagall and Dalglish, is the secret poetry of Jack Topaz McConnell.
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
Edwin Morgan's tea is oot
Whit is it wi Edwin Morgan?
Is he looking for a fight?
Is he cruising for a bruising?
Is it cos he cannae write?
Ah’m the poet in this toon
Ah’m a poet in ma prime
Ah’m Jack Topaz McConnell
Morgan cannae even rhyme
His poems are pure rubbish
They couldnae be much dimmer
Ah’m no staunin for that shite
Fae an old bloke wi a zimmer
I ken fine whit he was up tae
He wis trying to get me going
Am gonnae put my fit up his arse
Till only ma heel is showing
He wis trying to wind me up
Wi that “wisnae me” sly dig
Me sittin wi the Queen an aw
The auld bugger’s sure a pig
Ah gave free care for the elderly
An whit thanks dae ah get, eh?
The auld sod jist takes the piss
In front of Nicola Benedetti
But ah’ll hae the last laugh
When he pops his vital organ
Ah’ll be the poet laureate
The New Labour Edwin Morgan
Is he looking for a fight?
Is he cruising for a bruising?
Is it cos he cannae write?
Ah’m the poet in this toon
Ah’m a poet in ma prime
Ah’m Jack Topaz McConnell
Morgan cannae even rhyme
His poems are pure rubbish
They couldnae be much dimmer
Ah’m no staunin for that shite
Fae an old bloke wi a zimmer
I ken fine whit he was up tae
He wis trying to get me going
Am gonnae put my fit up his arse
Till only ma heel is showing
He wis trying to wind me up
Wi that “wisnae me” sly dig
Me sittin wi the Queen an aw
The auld bugger’s sure a pig
Ah gave free care for the elderly
An whit thanks dae ah get, eh?
The auld sod jist takes the piss
In front of Nicola Benedetti
But ah’ll hae the last laugh
When he pops his vital organ
Ah’ll be the poet laureate
The New Labour Edwin Morgan
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