(‘You can say lots and lots/ Against the Scots./ But at least they’re never charming.’ wrote Gavin Ewart. Quite so.)
Scotland is small. I am a Scot.
England is very big.
I know what’s what and you do not.
You are an English pig.
All pigs are cowardly and fat,
Too cowardly to fight.
Take that and that and that and that.
It serves you bloody right.
The Thistle grows. It whacks the Rose
That came to steal our money,
A swanky, snobby, toffee-nose
Who speaks our language funny.
We sing the song that makes us strong.
While English pigs are fleeing.
It serves you right for being wrong.
It serves you right for being.
If you have any comments on this poem, John Whitworth would be pleased to hear from you.