Switzerland, oh Switzerland

Switzerland, oh Switzerland

Land o’ cuckoo clocks

Cheese wi holes and loads o’ snow

And sledging wi John Noakes

Switzerland, oh Switzerland

Land o’ army knives

Mountains, lakes and chocolate

And such dreary little lives

Switzerland, oh Switzerland

Land o’ secret bankers

Ye’ve gaen up being neutral

And stuffed them English wankers

Switzerland, oh Switzerland

There is nae praise higher

Than for Scots tae toast the land

That gied us Ursi Meier

Referee, oh referee

Yer Scottish in disguise

Oh thank you Herr McMeier

Noo try a kilt for size

To Senora Miralles

Have ye seen our new Parly?

It’s looking awfy braw

Three cheers for Miralles

An ah’ll gie his widow wan an aw.

Oh ah’d gie her wan, ah’d gie her wan

Ah’d gie her two or three

Oh ah want Senora Miralles

O’er ma bended knee.

Ole ole Senora Miralles

Man ah’d love to nip ’er

Help ma boab I think it’s time

Fur the return o’ Jack the Zipper

Visit the widow, visit the widow

Ah’m only being polite

Visit the widow, visit the widow

Aye that’ll be feckin right

Visit the widow, visit the widow

Ah’ll soon win her affection

Fur I hear she likes a man

Wi a magnificent erection

Ole ole ole ole ole

Ole ole ole ole ole

Jack and Benedetta up a tree

Sh-a-gg-ing

Farewell to Whatsisname

Alas poor John Thingy

He’s here nae mair

He’s clean disappeared

Like the last o’ his hair

Alas poor John Thingy

He’s been fund oot

They cried him a loser

An gied him the boot

Alas poor John Thingy

He was nae brain surgeon

He thocht Alex Salmond

Was yon Nicola Sturgeon

Alas poor John Thingy

I liked him just fine

I was fair scunnered when

They made him resign

Alas poor John Thingy

We’ll see him nae mair

They’ve called for Roseanna

A lesbian? That’s rerr

Ode to Zinedine Zidane

Wan nil to Ingerlund

Wi 90 minutes gone

Tyldesley’s daen ma nut in

But hang oan here’s Zidane

He’s lining up a free kick

Gaun yersel big man

Calamity for Calamity

Ya beauty it’s wan wan

Ah’m supposed tae be neutral

First Minister an aw that

But even David Blunkett

Can see Gerard’s a prat

A hospital pass tae Calamity

He’s ta’en the legs aff Henry

The ref’s pointed tae ra spot

Help ma boab a penalty

Get it up ye, get it up ye

Get it up ye Tony Blair

Your boys took a beating

Fae a man wi no much hair

Parliament prayer

Hen can you understaun me now

Sometimes ah feel a little mad

Don’t you ken that nae First Minister can aye be an angel

Even Donald Dewar now looks kinda bad

Well ah’m just a boy whose designers are good

Oh Lord, please let me build new Holyrood

Hen sometimes ah’m so brilliant

It’s so hard no tae be smug

Other times ah get caught wi ma zipper doon

And then ah don’t want onyone to see ma ugly mug

Well ah’m just a boy whose designers are good

Oh Lord, please let me build new Holyrood

Normandy Wisdom

Oh whit tae dae

It’s D-Day the day

An I’ve got two things oan my plate

Ah could take the chance

Tae get myself tae France

Or keep my fancy Royal dinner date

France is real sunny

But golf is real money

An I could get to be Prince Andy’s mate

Auld sojers are moaning

Aw shut your groaning

Am no rising to your D-Day dodging bait

Whit’s that you say?

Votes are gaun astray?

Maybe dinner wi Andy’s no that great

I know whit tae dae

It’s D-Day the day

Tell the heroes wee Jack is head of state.

Ode to John Swinney

Lang streak o’ pish

And awfy skinny

Wee roond glasses

That eejit John Swinney;

Nae brains, nae guts

A total ninny

Hair like a Nazi

That eejit John Swinney;

I’ve seen less grease

On ma mammy’s pinney

Oh thank God for

That eejit John Swinney.

Unreliable

If you cannae rely on Reliance

Whit can ye do

Cons will be on the skite

And I’ll be on the broo

Oh Reliance they are wonderful

Reliance they are swell

They transport the prisoners

And let them go as well

And when a killer’s on the run

You can always tell

When some bugger’s been freed by Reliance

Royal Bleedin Ascot

Howya

Here I am at Ascot and I have to tell youse it’s bleeding deadly. Sure and I know it says Royal Ascot in the papers but she’s no queen of mine sure she’s not. She’s a nice enough old cow but as far as I’m concerned she sits down to do her business like the rest of us so I’ll be leaving the curtseys to the English. Bleedin eejits.

I got down here yesterday and Jaysus you should see the nick of some of the motts. There’s nothing like a bunch of posh doxies with their drawers on show to make me cacks jump to attention. Sure and they go on about the hats they’re wearing but what the hell are they bothering with that bollix for when there’s diddies on display everywhere? I tell youse there are some right qweer bits o skirt among these rich birds but the apes that are with them are too busy looking for their chins to notice. Feckin eejits.

I just had the one ride yesterday. Horses that is. A nag for Mr Dods in the big sprint. It’s a nice type but yesterday wasn’t one of its days for winning if youse know what I mean. Keep it thereabouts and then be a bit one-paced in the last furlong, don’ t make it too bleedin obvious says the guvnor. Only trouble was there was about 100 bleedin nags in the race and my one was scared shitless. His Gary Glitter was shaking so much it felt liking being on a washing machine on full spin cycle. Sure and does he not bolt off like a Boy Scout being chased by Michael Jackson? I nearly had me bleedin arms pulled out trying to stop the beggar from winning so I did. Still it was worth it and all, Mr Dods gave me a nice little bonus — £500 and a nice homemade steak pie. Lovely.

I tell youse there’s nothing like a runaway horse under your arse to give you an appetite. I went through that steak pie like John Leslie through a virgin then washed them down with a pack of Jaffas and a couple of jars of black. I felt more lardy than Vanessa Felz’s arse but it was nothing that maxi strength diurectics couldn’t cope with. I’d give the bog ten minutes if I was youse.

I got a little whisper for the big race today from the stable lad that gets Frankie his “special protein diet” — expensive stuff it is too on account of how it comes all the way from Colombia. Anyways, this feller tells me that Frankie’s nag doesn’t have a baldy and that all the Sheiks are putting their gold bars on Rakti. Sure and if it’s good enough for Sheik Yermani then it’s bleeding deadly enough for Freddie O’Farrell. Lovely biscuits.

It’ll be a grand dinner for me tonight James and don’t spare the courses. Keep the scran coming till the sauna is ready.

Hungry? I could eat chips from a beggar’s hankie.

See youse at the track.

Fred O’Farrell