MacZombie

 
There’s a zombie wanders Calton Hill
He plays the pipes, a deathly shrill
He limps a lot, his name in Rob
Through rotting flesh he lost his nob
He’s got one eye and half a nose
Blood and pus, freely flows
His head has a hole, some scalp is missing
It’s not a face that’s made for kissing
He wears a kilt, this Scottish hunk
A whisky man he’s always drunk
Loves his oatcakes, loves his porridge,
In the wheelie bins he’s known to forage
When it gets dark you’ll hear his groans
He’ll sometimes screech and sometimes moans
Typical Scotsman never happy
Always complaining, feeling crappy
Rather strangely he’s got issues
Wipes his drool with scented tissues
Wouldn’t munch on me or you
Much preferring fried tofu
Veggie haggis, meat-free mince
Meaty flesh would make him wince
Such an unlikely humanitarian
Rob’s a zombie and a vegetarian