Now a fella come over and whispered a message,
Says He "Now don't think that I'm trying to be rude,
I reckon you should leave before he recovers,
Unless you've a hankering for Hospital food!"

By now things were bad, so I thought I would venture
To try my luck on the 'far side of the tracks',
So I headed down town, and found a small tavern,
Where all their tattoos had wee Union Jacks!

I fell in with the best bunch of lads you could wish for,
With muscles all bulging out through their vest.
They seemed to be some kind of Tina Turner Fan Club,
They were all wearing T-shirts with 'Simply the best'!

Now the place it was cozy, and I felt rather warmish,
So I took off my jacket, for a wee breath of air,
The temperature dropped like a stone in an instant,
And all of them gave me the funniest stare.

I looked around to explain this change in the climate,
(Frank Mitchell said nothing in his evening report!)
But then I copped on at what they were staring,
I'd forgot I was wearing my old Celtic shirt!

  Now they all carried on as if nothing had happened,
A better reaction than I dared for to hope,
Except one wee skitter, who staggered across to me,
Shouting something about having sex with the Pope!

Now, me and Old Red Socks is not all that friendly,
For some of his statements I've got no great use,
But a man of his age and his physical condition,
Should not be subjected to sexual abuse!

Your man he continued to read out his pedigree,
With insults I'd only seen written on walls,
So to help him control his old sexual perversions,
I drew out and gave him a kick in the balls!

As he lay on the floor, sort of groaning and writhing,
The barman wagged me over to have a wee talk,
He says Sammy has friends who are not very friendly
I think you should run, while you're able to walk!

The next day I was wandering around up in Thomas Street,
When I spotted a sign saying 'Pub With No Beer',
But I headed in anyway, for by now I was desperate,
And sat down at the bar, though it looked a bit queer.

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