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Graham Donachie's Stories
The Daft Lad


The Daft Lad................Part One...

An Introduction........1999

A Daft Lad cam’ tae Ecosse shores
From ower the Northern Sea,
He cam’ tae plead his Royal case
Tae the likes o’ you and me.
Tae mak us aware o’ his Royal Line
And of his true Stuart Blude,
He settled his tender Royal Arse
In the sight o’ Holyrood........

The Claim

Now his claim to Right, to a’ us Scots
Was his lineage so pure,
By the passion between his noble sire
And a Court Ladye ..so pure....
And from their love begat a lass
A innocent bonny bairn,
That played the ‘pawn part’ in historie
And her Royal blude to yearn........

For the capture o’ that Mountain Land
That lay far across the Sea,
In the Mists o’ the wild and savage shore
In the Land o’ the naked knee.
Where the Wild War Pipes
And bare arsed Men, fight for luve alone
Tae the battle gae, in the thick affray
Wi’ thoughts of their Native Home ...

.............................
............................
.
The Daft Lads Great Grandsire.
Much removed...Thank the Lord.....

A brief Historie..
..........................

Bonnie Charlie’s noo awa..
Safely ower the raging main..
Hopefully.... he’ll no’ come back,
We dinna want his likes again....

Will ye no’ cam back again......
Will ye no’ cam back again......
Never missed ye’ll ever be........
Will ye.... no’ cam back again.......

.........................................
The Bonnie Prince...


After countless tears and long lost years
The dream it never died,
But the chance was gone and the battles lost
But he saved his Royal hide.
Frae a deadly field on a dreich dark day
With tail, ‘tween Royal legs,
From Honour’s demand, he fled that place
Now at humblest hame he begs.......

For His succour, he bled the puirest babe
He slew the strong young cheil,
He wrest the father frae his glen
And the womenfolk..left tae the deil..
And who he managed not tae slay
His Royal Cousin... did,
The Butcher’s hands red.. with Murders Blude...
Whilst Bonnie Charlie... hid.....

He sailed awa tae safety’s shore
In claret he did’st drown,
And thought of his Royal disaster
And the loss of his Scottish crown.
But solace he found in the bedchamber
In the arms of a poxy whore,
And his claim to fame in Society..was...
The Royal Ecosse Boar.......

And he slumbered deep in French Charitie
In his petulant powdered bed,
And his corpulence knew no honourable bounds
An incestuous lyfe he led.
And the coupling of that Sinful Court
And the bastards that were brought forth..

Made...........This Daft lad from ower the Sea...
Think.......
He was the true King of the North.....


Read other stories from Graham Donachie

 


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