Duelling doggerel!

That's a right cryptic message, McT,
At least it means nothing to me,
So tell, how's your life
And your beautiful wife?
Are you happy as happy can be?

Happy as happy can be
I've just had a trip on the sea
And back from premises licenced
So don't expect much sense
From the slopes of Glen Morangie

The slopes of a glorious glen?
What happened to Warrington then?
Are you getting like me
In your travelling free
Or was it a poetic pen?

Clazza dear, please keep up, do
That phrase should be well known to you
Once used by our Winnie
In one of his many
Witty forays at Westminster Hoo
It refers to malt liquor as well
As a spot on a heathery dell
On the slopes of Glen Livet
You'll be right as a trivet
And that's better than stuff made by Bell

Forgive me for not knowing THIS -
Do I look like the sort of girl
Who'd go out for a night on the piss?
Or understand that sort of world?
I prefer to stay south of the border
Malt liquor's not part of my order,
I'll stick with a schooner of sherry
And euphemise 'just getting merry'.

Its lines like these
That make one pleased
To be with such august
Company
(Enough I think
To hasten drink).

Steve, hail and greetings!
Nice to have these meetings!
This thread is mercifully free
Of all the crass stupiditee
That marks so many that I like -
Feel like telling certainly people in no uncertain terms to take a hike.

If I could write verse
I would converse
A lot more
Than I do here on this thread

Infrequent visits
I here make
Though most enjoyable
To participate

(phew...How are you?)

Don't feel alone my friend
I too have looked with longing to join in
Alas I lack both smartness and talent
So go easy on this poor gallant
Who braved her way to the thread
All the while feeling great dread

Glen Morangie at least eighteen
Rattle the rocks, smooth and slow
Allow the music to charm the heart
Dance to the candle's warm glow

It's time to beat the fleas out of the Dog
And give the old versification a prod
For I have just returned from the bog
That's more information than you needed, sez you, by God!

(I was just going to rhyme dog with prod
But that's too slack even for me, lazy sod)

Seems t'me the fleas went to market
Dogger whimpering the matriarchate
Tradin' in his Glen for a glass of wine
Sipped from a hand-carved stein

White linen tables anchors his soul
Stumblin' over the tiniest knoll
On his way back to sea's command
Where alone a man can still stand

So? what didja all do
shoot the poor dog?
or has the fleas carried
the critter into the bog?

certainly, you may be correct
finding a suitable rhyme for dogs
makes us wanna do a little slackin
just throw the dog to the hogs

wake up get up and sit up
me waited long enough, you know
each day I come to read a new doggerel
and see there's nothing for show

Oh the doggerel verse is a fickle mistress
And efforts poetical ofttimes end in distress
Bad verse is a knack which is given to few
But obviously including you, and you, and you
I agree we should write more, yes really I do

So on with the motley, and dash off a stanza
Next week I'm going up to the airt of Lochranza
No, I lie, it's a bit further, right up there in Sutherland
To get me some fishing, and fix of the mother land
I like Scottish beaches, so give me no other sand

The hills and the heather, the haggis and neeps
The beds and the breakfasts, both lavish and cheap
The midges and rain, and the whole Scottish schtick
The whisky which can get you drunk very quick
Hail Caledonia, I'll see you next week.

Like a man yodelling up a canyon
Sod this, I might as well have the tranny on

Be ya dancing all night mate
Drinking whiskey and rye
Yodelling up north ya go
Don't forget to say goodbye

Is this the very Caledonia
North of Hadrian's Wall
Or maybe Antonine's
Either way, doncha fall

Stumblin and yodelling away
be sure to come back some day

Say, McTag what can ye tell me
seeing as yer tranny still be runnin'
what wisdoms can a Caledonian
give that would be absolutely stunnin'?

There be this li'l man in never never land
His hat and his britches are strange
He is quite the fountain of wisdom
But his words seem a slight bit deranged

He should sound like he be from Scotland
But words make not a single squeek
Until the reader hears them in their brain
How would you write the way you speak?

Writing phonetical speech is a haphazard pursuit at best
Who would pin the butterfly to the leaf?
If you think Sean Connery with a hangover, in his vest
That's quite close enough, is my belief

dagnabbit, it may be hap and hazard
but my little man is really not a buzzard
there is no way to make 'im talk proper
to a king who pretends to be a pauper

and if you get me to thinking about Sean
there goes my writing, all but gone
and it would be me tomorrow morning
with a hangover in mourning

the book is at the publisher's court
with no contract yet of any sort
so time still is in my favor for edit
just no bank account showing credit