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| Mary's bed chamber |
| The Potty Poet Pierre de Chatelard, a young French Poet Wis headin' for trouble, but he wisnae tae know it He'd been found by Mary's chambermaid, all sweaty an' hot In Mary's chamber, under the bed, next tae Mary's chamber pot He wis banished frae her court, but he didnae take nae heed An' he followed as she went tae Rossend Castle Fu' o' passion an' wi' port, an' intent tae plant his seed The pickled Poet wis hopin', Mary widnae gie him hassle It wis well efter hauf past nine, an' Mary'd had a gless o' wine An' the ither Mary thingumyjig, wis helpin' wi her disrobin' In barged Pierre, an' his airms roon' Mary's middle did entwine 'It's the Poet, hurry' It took the Earl o' Moray, tae stop the Poet's probin' They dragged the drunken Poet away Tae a dungeon oan St Andrews Bay Where his famous last words, still cause a row 'They think it's a' over, it is now' |
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