Ode tae Muriel
by Dave MacFadzean (bearded and proud o' it.)
Well noo, Angry Corrie, ye've had yer say
so let's hear nae mair aboot Muriel Gray
or are ye a' in this gallus bessom's pay
as she prattles on aboot her fifty-odd Munros.
We a' saw her Munro Show, a series o' six -
fine weather on each summit, and helicopter tricks;
she must think we're a' daft, wae her panoramic flixs
as she havers on aboot her fifty-odd Munros.
She talks o' ghostly phantoms, in the warmth o' the Kingshoose Inn,
but has she walked in the dark, off the hill, wae nowt but rain an' win,
an' slept alane in some dark howff, soakin' tae the skin,
while she blethers on aboot her ghosts an' her Munros?
Wae her clathes o' mony colours, she's bound tae mak ye blink:
ye micht think they cheer the place up - miybe, like me, ye think they stink.
Aye, miybe yin day we'll get lucky, an' she'll walk richt ower the brink
when she's filmin her next series o' Munros.
But the thing that crowned it a', when in my bookshop I did look,
on the shelf wae Oor Wullie hair, a sicht tae mak me puke
oor michty bagger Muriel has gane an' wrote a book
tae bore us, wae how she bagged her fifty-odd Munros.
So let's hear nae mair aboot this lass, she's fairly had ye on the go,
though I never saw her camping high, or trudgin in the snow;
for the next thing that ye ken, she'll be sellin the video
o' how she conquered her fifty-odd Munros.
TAC 3 Index