Rookie - 30 Points (31/01/1954 / GLASGOW)

By The Clyde As A Boy.

By the Clyde, the bonnie Clyde, as a boy I breathed its air
I'd watch the captains and their ships, sail for The Glasgow Fair
Doon The Watter they'd all head, some were powered by steam
Churning up the waters and I would stare and dream.
The folks onboard waved merrily approaching Clydebank's docks
Then onward passing freely towards the old Dumbarton Rock
You could hear them laugh and sing their songs beneath the summer sun
They'd left their Glasgow far behind, their party's just begun.
It opened up just like the sea as they steered to Rothesay town
But me, I'd never get there, my dreams had let me down.
This was their Spain, their Italy, they felt they were abroad
But the strangest thing about all this, was no-one thought it odd!
Doon The Watter at The Fair, by bus, by boat or train
Courting couples, husbands, wives with a thousand screaming weans.
A bit of rain couldn't dampen, their spirits flying high
As the beers and wines flowed freely ‘til they felt like they could fly,
Staggering, falling out of pubs, completely out their heads
They couldn't find their lodgings so the beach became their beds.
That was then and this is now, no more The Glesca Ferr
Another piece of culture gone and no-one seems to care
You can take the man out of Glasgow but there's nowhere he can hide
For Glasgow's always in him, like that wee boy by The Clyde.

Submitted: Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Edited: Tuesday, June 12, 2012

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