by David McQuillan March 28, 2003
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’.
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’.
by joseph sharp January 11, 2004