The Ballade of Branock the Brave!

'Twas hoggin in the haggin noo
And spludgered was the grisley Mew
That sought upon the night so dark
That Branock, stood so soon to bark.

Fair waves, they crashed upon the shore
Of highland, Scoting, an Porrin Moor.
Fair waved the beastie, fling abroad
Scroting the Brasheck, in subbord.

Fair screeched the night so dark and bold
An n'er a story be so bold
As that of that of Branock, man the knave
A worldly man, and not too brave.

Through the darkness of the plain
The howling banshee of the sane
Did meddle with yon Branock's mind
And curdled his sporren from behind

Onward to the Rock of Scarth
Stopping, ne'r to have a bath
Soon the hideous mound was nigh
And Branock, himself, a little high.

He knocked upon the windy face
Och, fair lassie to embrace
Hair so red, into wind did yell
"Ye gods, Branock, you really smell"

Stricken was poor Branock's way
To hear yon lassie have her say
The cruellest cut was o're been seen
Damned by lack of his hygiene.

Back across the moor he stumbled
A sad, torn figure, totally humbled
The winds of Brasheck, tore his hope
If only he had bought some soap.

And so dear reader, heed my warning
Wash each day, aye, in the morning
Lest you fate be of Branock's night!
A smelly bloke, and not too bright.

[Tony Matthews 2002]