The lucky all come flocking to their silver lockéd liege,
He twitters with his subjects – he’s Noblesse Oblige,
A liberal and a gentleman, his bon mots burst with mirth,
Don’t worry where those forests went or the hundred mil he’s worth.
Ignore his Reaganomics, forget broadband to the home,
Malcolm looks an angel when MacBeth is near the throne.
With Punch and Judy in the mud the good duke looks pristine,
Turquoise Turnbull – blue as blood, with just a drop of green.
