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

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