In Scotland’s fog, where bagpipes groan, Trump swaggered in, a brash buffoon. Keir Starmer stood, a spineless bore, A punching bag for the golden roar!“
Those turbines, Keir, a hideous scar! My golfing view’s a work of art! Tariffs? I’ll crush with deals so crude, Immigration? Boats—expel the rude!
”Starmer gaped, a deer in glare, As Trump’s tirade fouled the air. “Whisky’s fine, but steel’s my throne, I’d wall this isle—wrong dirt, you clown!“
Windmills slaughter birds, what a farce! My oil’s king—green dreams collapse! Sadiq Khan’s a fool, London’s a dump, I’ll fix it all with a Trumpish pump!”
From Turnberry’s green to Aberdeen’s muck, Trump spewed his venom, out of luck. “Epstein? Pfft, my deals outshine! Keir, you wimp, this win’s all mine!
“Taxes here? A socialist blight! I’d slash them fast, restore my might! Gaza’s food? I’ll dump Big Macs, With ketchup scams and golden hacks!”
The Scots jeered loud, their patience thin, A PM crushed by this loud-mouthed sin. Starmer’s smile, a brittle mask, As Trump’s tirade tore the task.
With brags so vile and rants so shrill, He turned the crowd to mocking will. “Plywood’s gold in my grand design, Keir, you’re toast—step out of line!”
So raise a dram, ye Scots so sly, To Trump’s crude reign ‘neath Scottish sky. Starmer wrecked, in golden mire, A satire sharp with biting fire!
From misty hills to trashed prestige, His verbal blitz, a grotesque siege. A takedown tale, both harsh and free, Etched in verse for all to see!