Mr. Murray isn’t silly, he’s just keeping out of sight
And letting dear old Craigie boy deal with all his *****
Insolvency’s the latest craze that’s sweeping Glasgow town
And just like every other scam, those lads won’t let us down.
Ibrox Park is crumbling, falling brick by brick
They thought they’d get away with it but that’s only cos they’re thick
Uncle Hector wants his dough and they’re running scared of him
And today he’s dressed in green and white cos Hector is a Tim.
He’s back again at Ibrox but in the Celtic end
Dancing, singing, all day long as rangers fans pretend
They’re innocent ‘til proven and cannot be accused
But their faces sing a different song to keep Hector Bhoy amused......
They think that he’s a taxman whilst some say he’s a spy
But he’s really just a message bhoy, sent from Paradise.
The Holy Poet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
so much of history pass the place the poesy you give here. Welldone. Well written here.