Marlon Brando landed at Turnhouse
And took the Tram into town
he looked through the rain-streaked window
and increasingly began to frown
he saw row upon row of grim corporation hooses
the Pentland Hills lowered in the background
and the Schloss looked doon fae its black rock
upon his lost soul.
Marlon’s hotel room wis cauld
and his supper wis cauld
so he went to bed at nine
and poured stiff gins from a BEEFEATER bottle.
The next morning he’s walkin doon the Royal Mile
“Whaur’s the Festival ?“ he asks a Traffic Warden
“It sterts next month, sir”
so Marlon Brando went hame.
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