The McConnell Log
An epistle to the bewitching Ms Nicola Stephen
Oh Nicola
Oh Nicola
Woman wi’ two first names
Oh Nicola
Oh Nicola
Woman wi’ two hot flames
Oh Nicola
Oh Nicola
Continually playing games
Oh Nicola
Oh Nicola
Whit’s your bloody aims?
An ode on the sad and perturbing occasion of the election fiasco of May 2007.
Just a little cross
How hard can it be
To stop old Baw Face
And the feckin SNP
Yet voters spoil papers
With halfwit capers
Mixing up digits
Like mental midgets
Like eejits
Like clowns
Like Gordon Browns
Call it hypocrisy
But I hate democracy
And bleedin bureaucracy
Just vote Labour
Like your neighbour always did
Just a little cross?
Naw.
I’m pissed off
On the occasion of the Scottish parliamentary elections of 2007, a time of purdah and purgatory.
Ah cannae stand burnt sausage rolls
And am bored stupid by a game of bowls.
Ah dinnae believe in the Dead Sea scrolls
And cannae be arsed wi Sunday strolls.
What’s the point of studying black holes
Or watchin fish swim around in shoals?
Ah just cannae abide Cabinet moles
Or that wee ginger twat Paul Scholes
Or Skye Bridge tolls or our own goals
Or Peter Bowles or Tony Knowles
Ah wouldnae fancy walkin o’er hot coals
Or having my bollocks eaten by voles
Or being shot at fae grassy knolls
But worse than a’ thae tortured souls
All their parts and all their wholes
Is friggin, bastardin opinion polls
They fair get oan ma wick
On the occasion of Mr Tommy Sheridan announcing that he may form a new socialist party after infighting among the members of the SSP prompted by salacious and unfounded tales of his private life. Mr Sheridan has been found by a court of law to be not guilty of random and wanton shagging. These are (not really) his words.
Naebody knows where ma johnny has gone
It was here jist the other day
I’ve got two left in the packet
But I’m worried aboot DNA
It’s ma party and I’ll say goodbye if I want to
Lie if I want to, unzip ma fly if I want to
You wid sigh too if it happened to you
Been fighting Trident and the war in Iraq
Leave me alone for a while
Till I find that lost johnny
I’ve got no reason to smile
It’s ma party and I’ll buy a Thai if I want to
Gie her the eye if I want to, stroke her thigh if I want to
You wid try Spanish Fly too if it happened to you
On the sad occasion of the death of one of Scotland’s favourite sons, the much-loved mountaineer, author and broadcaster Tom Weir.
Don’t put away your bobble hat
Climb God’s mountains
Talk the craic
Take lost angels by the hand
Guide them through their own land
Charm them,
Inform and entertain
Show them the Way
And make them smile
On the undignified occasion of the court case involving Thomas Sheridan and the News of the World.
But why the fuss? In the words of Karl Marx, “From each according to his abilities, to each according to his needs”. And Tommy needs a shag.
Tommy the Commie
Man of his words
Power to the people
Espeshully the burds
(Allegedly)
Tommy the Tiger
He’s grrrrreat
A socialist, a sexualist
And definitely straight
(Allegedly)
Tommy the Marxist
Tells workers to unite
Nowt to lose but their chains
Tho handcuffs are alright
(Allegedly)
Tommy the Suntan
Wi his face so red
Has a large majority
And a party in his bed
(Allegedly)
An ode to our friends and European neighbours Portugal. Not for any particular reason, you understand. Just because they are great.
Nellie Furtado
Sardines and fado
Carmen Miranda
An Algarve veranda
Phil, Luis and Jose
A nice Mateus Rose
Magellan and Vasco
Christiano Ronaldo
Sam Mendes and Pessoa
Three penalties out of four
Now even Presbyterians
Are loving the Iberians
It’s such a grand locale
Oh obrigado Portugal
Obrigado
Obrigado
Obrigado Portugal
On the occasion of tennis superstar Andy Murray upsetting the sensibilities of the English nation by saying he’d not support their bid for World Cup glory.
In deepest, darkest, poshest Surrey
Wee Ingerlunders are in a flurry
They rant and rave but he disnae worry
You’ve got to love wee Andy Murray
Andy Murray
Andy Murray
Andy Andy Murray
He’s got shite hair
But we don’t care
Andy Andy Murray
Wi a barnet like that I’ve got a hunch
He’s a refugee fae the Hair Bear Bunch
But he makes the Inglish spew their lunch
And Henman’s got a face yid love to punch
Andy Murray
Andy Murray
Andy Andy Murray
He’s got shite hair
But we don’t care
Andy Andy Murray
He widnae back Ingerlund as a last resort
He’d rather hae VD or a genital wart
But jist to show that he’s a guid sport
He’ll wear a Portugal top on centre court
Andy Murray
Andy Murray
Andy Andy Murray
He’s got shite hair
But we don’t careAndy Andy Murray
Written on the occasion of the 2006 World Cup and in the wake of ‘controversy’ over Wee Jack’s declaration of support for Trinidad and Tobago.
What’s so bad
About supporting Trinidad?
If ah may say so
Ah can follow Tobago
If ah want
Ah’m the kind of guy
That quite likes Paraguay
And if it suits my needs
Ah’ll be behind the Swedes
So shut it
Italy or Ukraine,
Brazil, Switzerland or Spain
Poland or Japan
Germany, Ghana or Iran
Whoever
Any eejit can see
I’ll be supporting A.B.E.
And if that’s sad
Well it’s just too effin bad.
So there
Ah dinnae care
If I get a row fae Tony Blair
I’m Scottish to the hilt
So get it right up your kilt
Ya bass
C’moan T and T
C’moan Russell Latapy
Anyone But England dis for me
A.B.E.
A.B.E.
A.B.E.
Written on the occasion of my very important visit to the Commonwealth Games in Melbourne.
G’day mate
Fae the land down under
Miles awa
Fae the latest blunder
The Parly’s shut
I hear it’s fallin doon
Just as well
That ah’m oot o’ toon
Nats and Tories
Are rattling their sabres
Ah so whit
Ah’m watching Neighbours
Ah’ve a new hat
It’s got loads o’ corks
Ah’ve a braw villa
Paid for by the Warks
It’s nae junket
It’s fair hard work
Keeping a face
Withoot a smirk
Oh advance
Australia fair
There’s snow at home
But ah don’t care