Of Catalonia I'm surprised people take note, 
About independence on which they will vote. 
O'er here it's been the most silly of stories, 
That takes up some news time before soccer glories, 
With political Catalans frothing at mouth, 
While the rest of us head for beaches down south. 

Alas, this issue is now covered abroad, 
As if the Catalans dear freedom's been clawed 
By an ogre Madrid bent on rape and rapine, 
Ignoring their rights and, worse, dissing their wine, 
Commandeering their beaches and swiping their art, 
And giving few freedoms and those a la carte. 

For thirty years now have I lived in old Spain, 
And in a few lines can I quickly explain 
What's really at stake here, to what pols aspire, 
And I'll tell you right now it won't much inspire 
But the likes of spy masters and Donald Trump too, 
Guys who admire a smart turning of screw. 

Catalonia's where the money's made in dear Spain, 
Tax goes to the nation, which causes much pain, 
Though you bet Spain's south would be happy to trade, 
This pain for some jobs and an income upgrade. 
To this vexation add a slightly diff' tongue, 
And you get a spirit of victims unsung. 

A sentiment Cat pols abuse at their will, 
To gather more votes and to stick a sharp quill 
To Madrid when it comes to grabbing more budge', 
Which end of the day is their only true grudge. 
In short this movement comes from the Scot school: 
Independence, bro', that'd be like so cool.