Munching my Big Mac, I mused, whilst adjusting my thong,
Was Flora MacDonald a daughter, perhaps Ronald a brother?
Busily rowing and singing the Skye Boat Song,
Is this the origin of the Drive-Thru? as ketchup I smother,
Poor Bonnie Prince Charlie, only a tiny army he brought along,
His seed he did naughtily scatter, sod the crown! too much bother!

So, tout-de-suite, legged it back to France,
Then expresso to Italy, as pasta-masta, bathed in a vat of sauce,
And led poor wife Princess Louise a merry dance,
Badly afflicted with wandering hands, showing no remorse,
His behaviour was shocking, tut-tutting the Pope looked askance,
Formed a sub-committee, tasked with strict morals to enforce

Laying on his deathbed, he tearfully imagined a whispered refrain,

Will ye no’ come back again?
Will ye no’ come back again?
Better lo’ed ye canna be,
Will ye no’ come back again?

(This chorus Carolina Baroness Nairne)

© Robert Porteus