EPISTLE TO ALISTAIR DARLING

Wee, sleekit, glowerin', troublous Darling,
O what a panic's set thee snarling!
Thy bare-faced claims we can't use sterling
Dinna convince.
The imprecations thou keep'st hurling
Are full o' mince.

I ken wherefore thou art sae crabbit,
Thy fizzog like a startled rabbit,
Thy point of view sae parched and scabbit,
Thine aspect grim.
Faith! Thou maun earn a handsome habit
Wi' ermine trim.

I doubt na but thy denigration
O' Scotia's self-determination
Is based on wild imagination,
Or pauchlin' lies!
Such mischief bears its indication
In blinkin' eyes.

Thy Project Fear has fallen tae ruin!
The Cybernats gave it a doin',
Noo all deride its idle spewin'
O' stories strange,
And bold September's wind's ensuin':
The wind o' change!

Thou saw Carmichael, bare and wast,
And moothy Sarwar, speakin' fast,
And Michael Moore, in ancient past,
For mercy plead,
By Nicola's scything wit outclassed
And left for deid.

O Grand Panjandrum o' Finance,
Wha reads White Papers at a glance,
Whose style o' banking governance
Was fair found wantin',
It's nae surprise we look askance
At a' thy rantin'!

Gowk, thou maun learn the lesson plain:
Thy negativity is vain,
Awa' back hame and think again,
Thy scheme's agley.
An' nought remains but grief and pain
On voting day!

How drab thy lot, compared wi' me!
Westminster only toucheth thee,
And, as I backward cast my e'e,
It turns tae dust,
While forward, though I canna see,
I hope and true!