AINCE they sang o ‘Rule Britannia’
Nou Boris, wi his megalomania,
Ettles oan a new Utopia,
E’er heard the like!?
Seeks tae create his Brexiannia;
The man’s gaen gyte!

His plan, scrawlt oot oan some fag packet,
Wid mak ye think his heid wis crackit,
The Ghaist o Churchill scrapes his tackets,
Taks in the farce,
The smeddum he hud, Boris lacks it,
An buits his arse!

The wheels hae aa cam aff his bus,
The yin where-on he promised us,
Wir NHS we cuid entrust
Tae him! Aye, right…!
A Tory lee that we syne sussed –
Gang tak a hike!

That promised laund o milk an honey,
Lik Trumpton, ayeweys bricht an sunny,
Bojo wid build, tho he’d nae money
Tae fund his dreams,
Whaur aathing aye ends doun the dunny,
Thae ‘best laid schemes…’

The “Titfield Thunderbolt” rides again!
Whiles oot the windae o the train,
Throu white-tinted specs Farage dis strain,
‘Nae blacks , nae dugs…’
An ‘Ealing Tragedy’, quite insane –
Fir Brexit mugs.

In ‘First-Class’ Rees-Mogg dis recline,
When aince oan Quail’s eggs he hus dined,
Taks up three sates, an’s disinclined
Tae gie thaim up,
Be ye OAP, handicapped, or blind…
Ye’re oot o luck!

Mind, Rees-Mogg’s lounged aboot fir years,
A warkin-jaicket!? Whit!? Nae fear!
‘Ma wealth’s offshore! Nocht tae declare!’
An aff he capers…
He’ll no be swayed bi puir fowk’s tears,
Or ‘Paradise Papers’!

There’s Sammy Wilson, DUP,
‘Whit can we get the day fir free!?’
C’mon, ah think you’ve hud yer tea…
A Billion quid!?
‘But whit wull ye fir the Backstop gie!?’
Sam says, ‘Aye, guid!’

Merkel meanwhile hus hud her say,
She gien Big Bojo thirty days,
‘Get it sortit – or we’re away!’
He smiled, an lauched,
She shrugged, “Wir schaffen das!” – the UK?
Aye, she’s no daft!

Jo Swinson’s LibDem’s tae mak hay,
Naethin sae low that they’ll no dae!
A statue tae Maggie!? Sure, Jo brays…
Pits principles last…
‘Hypocrisy’ à La Mode’ ye say?
A neck o brass!

She’s gaun tae cancel the Brexit vote,
But here in Scotland her fox wis shot,
We slipped intae Jo’s haund a note,
We’ll mak nae fuss!
Fir Indie Wan wisnae warth a groat!
Sae whit aboot us!?

Whiles Call me Dave’s crawlt oot his hole,
Years in the wilderness he’d tae thole,
Tho he’s a buik tae sell, ye know!
An dirt he dishes…
The ‘Liars of Leave’ he dis expose,
An Bojo disses…!


Gove – a ‘foam flecked Faragist!’
Whiles Cummings an Farage werenae miss’t,
Somethin aboot thaim o the nicht!
An Dave’s stairk answer,
Tae UKIP racist smears an slichts;
A bunch o chancers!

Bojo’s response tae critics dissent?
Prorogues – an shuts doun Pairliament,
Fir a length o time that nane hae kent,
Rins doun the clock…
Syne Scotland fir the law hus sent,
Truth in the dock!

Aye, Bojo shuidnae hae bin messin,
Wi the Scottish Court o Session,
Carloway saw throu their pretension,
Attempts tae stymie,
Rules laid doun in wir constitution;
‘Ye’re oot the windae!’

Tae the Supreme Court the baw’s bin passed,
Gin ye thocht Gina Miller wisnae fasht,
Ye’re aiblins wrang ma frien, she’s crasht
Throu thaim afore,
Odds oan Bojo wull syne be bashed,
An throu the door…

Speiker Bercow and his MP’s,
Wull bring daft Bojo tae his knees,
Nae makkin it up nou as ye please,
Wi prorogation,
Ye’ll answer here an truth we’ll heize,
Tae save oor nations.

Ne’re buy yer fruit frae a Tory cairt,
Ye’ll fuin it’s rotten tae the hairt,
E’en their verra ain rats desert,
Their sinkin ship,
Whiles twenty-wan o their noble best,
Their wings goat clipt!


In their mind’s theatre, insincere,
Oor haurd won freedoms wull disappear,
Whaur fascist ploys are aye held dear,
Wi plots corrupt;
Dom Cummings playin Albert Speer,
The curtain’s up!

Brexiannia, a daurk nichtmare,
Gude help us aa gin we gae there,
The rich wull tak the greatest share,
Lea us wi nocht,
A future bleak fill’t wi despair,
Mind hou ye vote!