(Scroll to the bottom if you really need the translation!)
# And here’s to you, Mr. Robinson #
On this braw day o’ poetry,
A sang ah’ll sing tae the BBC.
O’ how ma life has changed fir guid,
Since a’ took the step that a’ ken’t a’ should.
Tae pay nae mare fir its half sourced lies,
Edited nonsense an’ fearfu’ cries.
‘Cause a dinnae care fir yer state owned crap
An’ am no greetin aboot yer weather map….
Naw, it’s aw thon pish ye spout most daily
Tae mak our folk feel dumb, BUT gailey,
Fir there’s aboot as much truth in the brothers Mitchell
As whit the Queen thinks told by Nicholas Witchell
An’ Nick Robinson, who the heck is he onyway,
Makin an ‘erse of himself on th ‘economy,
Nah, feck off, an’ let us think fir ourselves,
Gie us AW’ the sources so WE can delve.
Cause despite whit ye think, Scotland isnae daft,
So stop crushin’ oor hope wi’ yer evil craft.
Gie people credit an’ let US decide,
Tell us the NEWS but dinae misguide!
So until ye do and stop wi’ yer guff,
For me an’ the bairns, enough is enough.
Sure ah’ll miss ma Strictly Come Dancing,
Hours o’ ma life stripped o’ near naked prancin’!
But ye ken whit, ah’ll no be deprived o’ Peter Capaldi
Fightin the daleks an’ gee’in it laldie,
There’s ay a way tae watch efter online,
Wi-oot riskin the curse o’ an awfu’ fine.
Wan problem remains tho’, an’ it’s quite a glitch
Cause, obviously am a MASSIVE Cumber-bitch
An’ a cannie wait mare than a meenit or twa
Til ma man Benedict swoons on, aw’ braw.
SO SORT IT OOT!!!! Cause no case he’ll solve
On an hour’s delay, will you absolve!!!!
By Christmas next ah’ll no behave
If a’ve tae watch wan mare thing on bloody DAVE.
Let the guid folk ye’ve got rise tae the tap
Stop fillin’ yer airwaves wi’ vacuous crap,
It’s no like we’re askin’ fir total perfection,
Jist listen and act on oor objection.
But ken, if the price in the end o’ ma non-conformance
Is tae demand fae Benedict a private performance,
In ma livin’ room…o’ the Sherlock script,
Jings, there’s nae danger I’ll be tight lipped.
So fix it up an’ fix it quick
Get yer fing’er oot and mak it stick,
If ye cannie, ye ken it’s the end o’ the party
On yer ‘erse Scotland’s going aw’ Moriarty ;)
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
On request (and despite this rather burning my poetry soul) I have translated the best I can below. Not for the benefit of our much loved and respected comrades across the Southern Border of course, but for some dearly loved international lost souls, to whom I can never refuse anything. I hope it still works!
# And here’s to you, Mr. Robinson #
On this great day of poetry,
A song I’ll sing to the BBC.
Of how my life has changed for good,
Since I took the step that I knew I should.
To pay no more for its half sourced lies,
Edited nonsense and fearful cries.
‘Cause I don’t care for your state owned crap
And I’m not crying about your weather map….
No, it’s all that sh!t you spout most daily
To make our folk feel dumb, BUT cheery,
For there’s about as much truth in the brothers Mitchell
As what the Queen thinks told by Nicholas Witchell
And Nick Robinson, who the heck is he anyway,
Making an arse of himself on the economy,
No, f@ck off, and let us think for ourselves,
Give us ALL the sources so WE can delve.
Because despite what you think, Scotland isn’t daft,
So stop crushing our hope with your evil craft.
Give people credit and let US decide,
Tell us the NEWS but don’t misguide!
So until you do and stop with your guff,
For me and the kids, enough is enough.
Sure I’ll miss my Strictly Come Dancing,
Hours of life stripped of near naked prancing!
But you know what, I’ll not be deprived of Peter Capaldi
Fighting the Daleks and “gee’in it laldie”,
There’s always a way to watch after online,
Without risking the curse of an awful fine.
One problem remains though, and it’s quite a glitch
Because, obviously I’m a MASSIVE Cumber-bitch
And I can’t wait more than a minute or two
Until my man Benedict swoons on, all…oooo
SO SORT IT OUT!!!! Cause no case he’ll solve
On an hour’s delay, will you absolve!!!!
By Christmas next I’ll not behave
If I’ve to watch one more thing on bloody “DAVE”.
Let the good folk you’ve got rise to the top
Stop filling your airwaves with vacuous slop,
It’s not like we’re asking for total perfection,
Just listen and act on our objection.
But look, if the price in the end of my non-conformance
Is to demand from Benedict a private performance
In my living room…of the Sherlock script,
Gosh, there’s no danger I’ll be tight lipped.
So fix it up and fix it quick
Get your finger out and make it stick,
If you can’t, you know it’s the end of the party
On your arse, Scotland’s going all Moriarty ;)
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