Holy Nicola’s Prayer (with apologies to Burns)
O Thou, that in the heavens does dwell,
As it pleases best Thysel',
Sends TRAs to Heaven an' Terfs to Hell,
For Thy glory,
And well deserved is the doom,
Of mutinous loons with a womb!
I bless and praise Thy matchless might,
When thousands Thou hast left in night,
That I am here afore Thy sight,
For gifts an' grace
A burning and a shining light
To all in genderland.
What was I, or my generation,
That I should get sic exaltation?
I wha deserv'd most just damnation
For the lost cause,
Of GRA implementation,
Thro' Westminster’s curse.
When from my birthing person's womb I fell,
Thou might hae plung'd me deep in hell,
To gnash my gums, and weep and wail,
In a broom cupboard,
Where damned GCs roar and yell,
Chained in their Discord.
Yet I am here a chosen sample,
To show thy grace is great and ample;
Not nebulous but a Feminist temple,
Strong and wise,
A guide, a shield, and example,
To all oor Trans Allies.
O Lord, Thou kens what pains I bear,
When Cross and Cunningham, whit a pair,
Probing here and testing there,
In courtrooms great and small;
Make sure I am keepit by my fear
Free frae any tribunal.
But yet, O Lord! confess I must,
At times I'm fash'd wi' material lust:
And craftily left Pete’s van to rust,
Next to Mil’s green bin;
But Thou remembers we are dust,
Defil'd wi' sin.
Lord, bless this chosen, righteous face,
And take thy vengence in my workplace!
May this honest pen my foes debase,
Blast their names,
Wha brings Thy servant to disgrace
An' open shame.
Lord, mind yon Rowling’s just deserts;
She drinks, an' swears, an' smokes cigars,
Yet has sae much influence,
Wi' great an' sma',
Frae God's ain priest (me BTW) the people's hearts
She steals awa'.
And when we chasten'd her therefore,
Thou kens how she raised such merriment,
And set the Twittersphere in ferment
O' laughing at us;
Curse Thou her billions and any store,
That stocks her omnibus.
Lord, hear my earnest cries so fraught,
Against that midwit Supreme Court;
Thy strong right hand, Lord mak it swat
Upo' their heads;
Lord visit them, an' spare them not,
For their misdeeds.
O Lord my God! those glib-tongu'd ForWomen,
My vera heart an' flesh are quakin,
To think how we stood sweatin, shakin,
An' pish'd wi' dread,
While they, wi' hingin lips an' snakin,
Held up their heads.
Lord, in Thy day o' vengeance try them,
Lord, visit them and all who support them,
And pass not in Thy mercy by them,
Nor hear their pray'r,
But for Thy people's sake destroy them,
An' dinna spare.
But, Lord, remember me an' mine
Wi' mercies temporal and divine,
That I for grace an' gear may shine,
Excell'd by nane,
And a' the glory shall be Thine,
Amen, Amen!