McTavish worked the factory a common workin' lad Not much to look forward to 'cept drink and being bad He'd show up at the bar and spend his money on the booze Spend the night complaining, to the barman he'd be rude He'd brag loudly at the bar 'bout the time he'd got the crabs Or the strike down at the docks when he beat up all the scabs The barman said yo laddie you keep the language clean He smiled and said pissh off and threw up in the soup tureen What's the matter it's dear olde Glasgee's goin' round and round Saturday night, Sunday morning The King O Glasgee Town One day in the Queen came 'to town, he went to the parade Shtill pisht from the night before he spied her motorcade As her car went past he made a gesture very divide He lifted his kilt and showed his ass as dirty as the Clyde He staggered home that night His kilt was dripping piss He stopped te boch on a minister's frock And he raised his drunken fist
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