But that’s a Belgian refugee, of coorse.
This Freudian complex has somehoo slunken
Frae Scotland’s soul—the Scots aboulia—
Whilst a’ its terra nullius is betrunken.
And a’ the country roon’ aboot it noo
Lies clapt and shrunken syne like somebody wha
Has lang o’ seven devils been possessed;
Then when he turns a corner tines them a’,
Or like a body that has tint its soul.
Perched like a monkey on its heedless kist,