Craig Whyte. Poem by THE HOLY POET

Every time I see your face
Nothing's ever out of place
With every pic that bears your name
You always seem to look the same.
Your plastic face, that painted smile
Is this your own artistic style
With distant eyes so far away
Or did surgery make you this way?
Maybe you're a tragic flaw
Or a reject from Madame Tussaud?
Well, are you real, or are you fake
Are you like this when you awake?
You're like a cardboard cut-out
Ruling with your paper clout
Even when you're in the stand
You somehow manage to look bland
I'd love to see inside your brain
And learn the ways of your campaign
Or how you've managed to succeed
When they say your deals were dodgy deeds
And did you buy Rangers on your own
Or financed through a tickets loan,
They want questions answered now
If courts and taxes will allow
An AGM is what they want
And promises you will not flaunt
The trust they placed in one so vile
With your irritating constant smile
But how you stumble through excuses
When angry fans hurl back abuse
Rejecting words meant for the meek
The truth is all your followers seek
Yet truths seem hard for you to tell
But you seem to manage lies quite well!