2011 – “Blame the Bloody Trams”

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Bard’s Oration 2011

Blame the Bloody Trams

 

 

This year has been a queer one, wi all its ups and downs

Wi’ natural disasters, and folk wha act like clowns

Birds falling oot the heavens deid, or fish washed up on shore

Earthquakes in Haiti, and floods in Bangalore

Volcanoes ower in Iceland, might suggest a master plan

By an angry, vengeful deity, tae punish foolish man

I think its something simple, the answer’s in my palms

For everything that e’er goes wrong, I blame it on the trams

 

We’re all in this together’, or so George Osbourne said

Then buggered off tae Klosters, tae ski wi’ Fred the Shred?

Or just some other Eton types, and military rankers?

I’m struggling now tae find a rhyme that goes wi’ merchant bankers.

And speaking o’ these bankers, they’ll a’ still get their bonus

While we the humble tax payers, will have tae bear the onus.

But I can’t blame these overpaid, and over privileged bams,

So I’ll write tae the Evening News, and blame the bloody trams.

 

We’ve had Arctic weather, frost and snaw, and ice tae mak’ ye stumble

While the Cooncil did what it does best, prevaricate and bumble.

The big freeze it went on and on, and still the Cooncil dithered.

The Cooncillors got their streets cleared, while we a’ slipped and slithered

While we were forced tae walk on ice, masell’ Ah hud the jitters

I still believe in Santa, but I don’t believe in gritters

But I’m no” blamin’ climate change, whilst stuck in traffic jams

And I’m no’ blamin’ potholes, I blame the bloody trams.

 

Now Silvio Berlusconi, we a’ know is a chancer,

Has got himsel’ in trouble, wi a teenage belly dancer

It is just the latest scandal, for this randy geriatric

wi’ his interest in younger girls, that’s almost paediatric

So this Italian premier, looks sleazy and so silly

all for his love of prostitutes, and his unruly Willie

But I don’t blame his interest, in call girls and madames

or even on Viagra, I blame it on the trams

 

The Spirit of Adventure, to Zanzibar was bound

Unaware Somali pirates, were close by to be found

The ship was full of pensioners, all on a SAGA cruise,

wi’ tea dances aye and bingo, and the odd wee sip of booze

Were the pirates geriatrics too? I really have to ask,

Led by Long John Silver Surfer, was he equal tae the task?

Geriatric pirate stereotypes, is a very rich bonanza

so I’ll leave the trams aside for now, and write another stanza!

 

Did they fly the Grumpy Rodger above the wizened mast?

Did they still indulge in yo ho ho, or were those days truly past?

Did their timbers really shiver, and did the gallant crew

O’ hardly able seamen, still remember what to do?

And when they spliced the mainbrace, when the day came tae an end

was it done with a tot o’ rum, or just Sanatogen?

No need tae further speculate, the content o’ their drams

The subject is exhausted, so back tae the bloody trams.

 

Now we come to Katy Price, or Jordan as it fits

Famed for porno movies, and her massive plastic bits

Getting married tae two saddo men, and writing children’s books

D’ye think that Peter Andre, is as glaikit as he looks?

She’s made a mint exposing, every facet of her life

And now she asks for privacy, it cuts me like a knife

And as for poor Max Clifford, and a’ the tabloid bams

They’re really devastated, so they’ll blame it on the trams

 

Next up comes Kelley Osborne, o’ that awfy Osborne clan,

because he cheated on her, she went and dumped her man,

But no’ wi’ anither wumman, And can you believe its true

The party was a shemale, so who did what to who?

While his upper part was female, he’s still waitin, for the op,

So his lower half is alpha male, ye couldna’ make this up!

Its the pressure of celebrity, say those quasi, showbiz hams,

then blame for their lifestyles, but me? I blame the trams.

 

Now we have a new year, and so far its rich and varied.

England won the ashes, Wills and Kate are getting Mairried.

They didna’ get the World Cup, so blamed it on Seb Blatter

and according to the BBC, that’s a’ the things that matter.

Except for the Olympics, aye London’s got them too.

Who’ll be the mugs that pay for them? You’ve guessed it, me and you.

So when the summer simmers, or the cauld dreich winter clams,

don’t blame global warming, just blame the bloody trams

 

Bill Hill

January 2011