I don't write in the vernacular, but admire those who can. Away, way, way back in the good ol' days of the 1980's I did have a stab at trying to write a poem in that wonderful rich Glasgow vernacular. So poem for the day is that effort from the Thatcher era, Though it was written all those years ago, it kind of shows that nothing has really changed. They're still screwing us stupid, and we are still struggling to survive and they're still scapegoating the poor, unemployed, disabled and vulnerable.
Where's the Bottom Line?
Aw fuck me, the giro's done,
the bloody heatin's aff, nae milk, nae breed
two totties an'an egg,
is this the bottom line?
Three years unemployed
his crushed ma self-esteem.
Yi' see,
am th'wrang age, or I've got th' wrang skills,
well, that's the usual theme.
So, I've threw in the towel
a don't even try,
wi' younger men than we
stawnin' in the queue,
am oot, sine die.
Wi nae money in yir pocket
there's nuthin' yi can dae
except stawn it the windi'
watchin the weans it play.
Noo the wife's buggard aff,
says she's hid enough.
Says am never oot o'bed
a never try a leg. Bit,
wi a job an' a good wife
a wis jist like a young pup.
Then some bastard shut the factory,
noo ma life's aw fuck'd-up.
Right noo, a need a jar ur two
tae kill ma screami' heid,
there's nuthin' left tae pawn
so wit is it, beg ur thieve,
is this the bottom line?
Meanwhile, the cabinet all agree,
dependency culture is rife,
something must be done
to stamp out this lazy life,
now, this is the bottom line.
