The Glesga Kiss.
I remember my first kiss like it wis only yesterday.
An’ I’ve goat the marks across my foreheid jist
tae prove it.
It wis in the West End Ballroom, it’s nae longer there they say.
An’ I’m glad the Glesga Cooncil decided
tae move it.
There wis this wee
blonde wumman, she looked a guid wee dancer.
So I dashed across the flerr at considerable
speed.
The wumman saw me comin’, sayin’, ‘here’s that bow-legged chancer.’
An’ she hit me oan the foreheid wi’ her heid.
I cannae remember her name, och! It’s a’ the bloody same.
I’m bein’ hurled aroon’ the Royal oan a barra.
My shirt’s a’ fu’ o’ bleed, wi’ fifteen stitches in my foreheid.
An’ the Doctor says I’ll no’ see for days, because o’ her mascara.
I swore it wid be the last
time I’d be goin’
tae the dancin’.
There surely must be a safer way
tae carry oan romancin’.