Mrs Macdonald Poem by Leslie Philibert

You ran down from Culloden banging cars
off the motorway with your claymore.
You hated little smart arse Londoners
who diddn`t like algebra. I bet you drank
vinegar, ate Hawick balls and tossed the caber
in your garden in Peckham. Covered in tweeds
as thick as a docker`s sanwich you could
have melted ants with the lens of your glasses.
Now I understand why you shouted very lesson...

Yuv nit dun yor hoomwok.

Oh dear.