My Pal Santa
My pal Santa is a fearliess flier, the
Scroots would have a fit
The seats and belts are out of date so he
has no place to sit
He’d never pass a Noise Test, and the
sleigh has no MoT
The windscreen’s cracked and frozen o’er so
through it he cannae see
Chief Scroot MacDonald would have a rage, and
glow bright red of face
The Blue Book rules of little use, in this
exceptional case
No tax disc either or insurance docket, for
Sheila to note and pass
And Greig couldn’t dip the fuel tank, to
check for illicit gas
Clingan too could check enviro, but this
time to no avail
No need here for a ‘New Pig’ sop, just
reindeer poo and a pail
But how does McDowall sound the horn, and
test the Christmas crackers
Dangerous job as he’ll find out, when
squeezing the reindeer knackers
With Scroots and Air Ministry bypassed,
there is one final check
To ensure he’s legal and fit to fly ‘The
Sheriff’ will inspect
No need here for a stamp or seal, or even a
Logbook list
Just a nod, a wink and a dram, to make him
a wee bit pissed
Runners polished, reindeer fed, and SatNav
primed for flight
That’s him ready for his labours, ahead of
a busy night
And if David and Euan think they’re quick,
and Quintin thinks he’s faster
Here’s some news for all of youse, Santa is
the master
So, Merry Christmas everyone, from me - and
my pal Santa.
N.B. All the names are entirely non-fictitious and bear no resemblance to any living person, except those who are mentioned above.
No comments:
Post a Comment