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’.
