THE HOLY POET
A Seterday Efternin. - Poem by THE HOLY POET
A poke o' chips an' Irn Bru, scoffed an' guzzled doon
How I used tae dae a' this, wi' only hauf a croon
Jumpin' oan a 64, the Auchenshuggle bus
Ma wid ayways worry an' make an awfy fuss.
A tanner fur a ticket an' that wis a return
Two bob left an' loaded, wi' money left tae burn
Ah'm nearly in the country, ah've jist passed through the toon
How ah used tae dae a' this wi' only hauf a croon.
Passin' by The Calton an' askin' who're the Tongs
Hauf a mile doon the road ah'd see the Celtic throngs
If ah wanted in the day, ah'd best be pretty swift
Cos ah've still tae ask: hey mister gaunny gie's a lift!
Seturday in Paradise queuin' at the gate
Ah'm gaun tae see the Celtic an' ah can hardly wait
Staunin' in the Sellick end cheerin' oan the 'Tic
Singin' a' the songs while Jinky done his tricks.
Hauf time came, ye ran doonsterrs, ah'd money left tae buy
A big hot cup o' Bovril and a greasy mutton pie
A healthy Glesga diet but it wis jist the ance a week
The Bovril wis aye roastin' an' you could hardly speak
The second hauf wis brulliant, we won the gemme three wan
Twelve years old, long troosers, ah'm near enough a man
It wisnae hard tae get there but comin' back's a joke
So ah guzzled wan mair Irn Bru an' kept mah chips hot in their poke!
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