|Subject: what about . . . .|
Posted Dec 3, 2003 by shhhmichael
This is a reply to this Posting
|I'm a skyscraper wean2); I live on the nineteenth flair;|
But I'm no' gaun oot tae play ony mair,
'Cause since we moved tae Castlemilk, I'm wastin' away
'Cause I'm gettin' wan meal less every day.
Oh ye cannae fling pieces oot a twenty storey flat,
Seven hundred hungry weans'll testify, to that.
If it's butter, cheese or jeely, if the breid is plain or pan,
The odds against it reaching earth are ninety-nine tae wan.
On the first day ma maw flung oot a daud o' Hovis broon;
It came skytin' oot the windae and went up insteid o' doon.
Noo every twenty-seven hoors it comes back intae sight
'Cause ma piece went intae orbit and became a satellite.
On the second day ma maw flung me a piece oot wance again.
It went and hut the pilot in a fast low-flying plane.
He scraped it aff his goggles, shouting through the intercom,
'The Clydeside Reds huv giat me wi' a breid-an-jeely bomb'.
On the third day ma maw thought she would try another throw.
The Salvation Army band was staundin' doon below.
'Onward, Christian Soldiers' was the piece they should've played,
But the oompah man was playing a piece an' marmalade.
We're wrote away to Oxfam to try an' get some aid,
An' a' the weans in Castlemilk have formed a 'piece brigade'.
We're gonnae march to George's Square demanding civil rights
Like nae mair hooses over piece-flinging height