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Creeping Jesus

The Poacher

A wee song came inty mah heid the day.

It needs some help....

Contributions welcome.

Behind people's backs like a thief in the night
Goes the  slimy wee poacher, the two-faced wee shite
Tae feed his nest o' whitrats an' rottans
Forgettin' that nothin' is ever forgotten.
Ox ya Moron

In public he micht seem aw smiley an glaikit
But tha's jist him in his camouflage jaikit
He loves tae distract fowk fae hings that he's daein
So's he can screw 'em wi' aw o' his bein.

Can I add mine in rap?
Creeping Jesus

A rap would need tae go in as an intermezzo, but wur multicultural here Betty.

On ye go.

Now listen hear y'all, there's a man about town
Who's aim is to bring other folk down
You'll find him in the junk mail, you find him in the trash
He's the creepy little fucker dealing out tha' snash
He's the king of bitchin', he's the prince of snitchin'
Yo! all of his friends can't wait to ditch'im.
Ain't nobody likes him,no one's approachin'
Thats why that man has to go poachin'
Rid Sonja

The caecilian’s seen, castin aboot furra mark
Shifty e’en’d ‘n mooth a-gabberin‘;
Leads him tae possit thurs sum lugs wirth the wark.
But lugs hiv nae howp thit the tales he’s weavin’
Hiv a pith o' sense, ur pride o’ wirth,
Fur ab’dy knows ra caudite’s a sleekit wee wratch;
Wi rank o’ a donsie’s fause-faced tuppence: wanwirth,
Casts a mirk thit stievely fowk abhor an’ detach.
Creeping Jesus

Rid Sonja wrote:
The caecilian’s seen, castin aboot furra mark....
Casts a mirk thit stievely fowk abhor an’ detach.

You've been readin that McDiarmid fella again eh?
Rid Sonja

Burns, actually... he wasn't a stranger to the use of allusion ... take 'Scot's wha ha'' fr'instance...  Wallace might have been the character in the story but the narrative lies elsewhere as ye know.

As fur McD, he was always enraged by what the Establishment had done to Burns as a poet, reducing him to a mawkish sentimentalist or caricaturist in the minds of ordinary Scots.  McD was right, there is so much more to Burns than being a mere scribbler.
renfrewshire radical

Talkin' o RB.

In sev'n hunner and forty nine,
The deil gat stuff tae mak a swine.
And coost it in a corner.
But wilie he chinged his plan,
Shaped it sumthin lik a man,
And cried it "Yon Wee Tosser".

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