"Ye wint mair savoir-faire, Jamal", they said
An gied the job tae Willy Bloggs instead
A peely-wally eejit, bit I gaither
The chiel fa did the hirin kent his father.

"Jamal", I speired, "Dis it nae weir ye doon
Bein short-cheenged because yer colour's broon?
Foo div YE view the natives o this place?”
Lauchin, quo he "We're aa ae human race
Tho some's as couthie as an anaconda.
A British wifie looks fell like a panda
Tae me, fin rain his blootered her mascara.
Whether yer name be Smith or Macnamara
If ye be under par, or deaved wi ills
Ye turn as green's a puddock roon the gills
Wi hair like biled tripe, or limp spaghetti
As sexually invitin as a yeti ...
An gin yer blate, ye blush tomatae-reid
Gyang grey as wattered parridge fin yer deid.
Leavin aside yer spikk, claes, incidentals
Ye luik the same tae me, ye occidentals.

Bit fit's the odds? Gin Hindus gar ye cowk
Scrat in aneth the skin, we're anely fowk
Sae dinna peety me. My trials are mony
Bit I've mair lives tae come ... ye, hinna ony