‘Beautiful railway bridge of the silv’ry Tay
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.’
Loyal McGonagall fans all on their way
To a village hall near Inveraray
Where the poet was to read the very next day.
And so enthusiastic were they, and so proud
That they recited his poems aloud
On the train, on the bridge over the River Tay.
But the rhymes were so lumpen
And the rhythm so dumpity-dumpen
That each iron girder and rafter
Shook with uncontrollable laughter
And the bridge quivered and shivered, and catastrophé
It collapsed and fell into the silv’ry Tay.
With an almighty gloosh, the train disappears
Taking with it ninety pairs of cloth ears.
Och! It must have been an awful sight
To witness in the dusky moonlight.
But luckily for Scottish literature
The poet was at home, of that I am sure.
Tucked up in bed all warm and cosy
Wi’ a wee dram and a slab of Dundee cake,
And for the sake of those who perished in the silv’ry Tay
He postponed his performance until the following day.