Tom's Poem

DUNFERMLINE LINEN

In a mean abode, doon the Limekilns Road 

Lived a man called Charlie Groat

And he had a wife, the plague o' his life

Wha continually got on his goat.

Till one day at morn, wi' her nightgoon on

He slit her skinny throat.

Wi' a razor gash he settled her hash.

Ha, ha, ha, never was crime sae quick.

But the steady drip o the pilly slip

O' her life blood made him sick, 

While the pool o' gore on the bedroom floor

Grew cauld and clotted and thick. 

Well, he was glad that he'd done what he had

as his wife lay there sae still. 

So to finish the fun, sae weel begun

He decided himself to kill.

So he's taken the sheet fae room her cauld feet

And he's knotted it into a rope.

And he's hanged himself frae the lobby shelf

T'was an easy death, let's hope.

While wi' his last breath, in the grip o' death

He 's offered a prayer to the Pope.

Noo, the funniest turn o' the hale concern 

It's only just beginning'

Ye see, Charlie went to Hell

But his wife's noo well and still alive and sinning'

For the razr blade was JAPANESE MADE

But the sheet was DUNFERMLINE LINEN.