To an Answering Machine
(DB circa
1992)
Wee sleekit
recordin tapey
Wie ye spaken
word sae grand
Are ye jist no
there tae take it
Or is her heed
jist in the sand
Wee smarty
panty, beeper
Your heeds a’
wasted, whit a tongue
Talks jist
like yer landed gentry
Erse oan fire
and nose in dung
How long’s yer
mem’ry
A’d better be
quick
Huve a’ spoke
clearly
Wid it no make
ye sick
Wee jigglin’
magnets
Your wee motor
birls
Ferrite coated
mylar
Going round in
whirls
Your speaker
crackles
Your magnets
excite
Imparting my
words
On tape tae
recite
Shut my mooth
an haud my temper
Bite my
tongue, that’s whit A’l dae
Talk intae a
fancy beastie!
It’le no be
me, I’ll jist go away.
A’ll wish you
this
A’ don’t mean
morosely
Sit real tight
And listen
real closely
Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!
Click!
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