Young Toun Crazies Rule, O.K.?

Young Toun Crazies Rule, O.K.?

Blackhall, Sheena

Back o the Bingo, they aa hing oot.
Wee Mo, Pamela, Jake an Spats,
Big Plug Patterson, Ranjit, Newt,
Jinx McPhail fae the high rise flats.

Wee Mo, Pamela, Jinx an Spats,
Fower moos puffin on the ae weet fag,
Fower lums rikkin like Ganges ghatts
'Pass roon the cancer, gie's anither drag'.

'Young Toun Crazies Rule,' they craw,
Big Plug Patterson sprayed his name
Wi a tinnie o gloss on the bike shed waa,
The Jackson Pollock o Deid-End Lane.

Strongbow cider's chaiper nur ye think
Soor an strong, bit ye maun belang,
Bauld an gallus efter ae wee drink,
Young Toun Crazies, the hale jing-bang.

Jinx haived a steen at a windae peen...
Tinkle, tinkle, the schule room glaiss......
Bobbies at the door bi the licht o the meen.
'Are ye his ma wi yer feart-like face?'

Ranjit's pooch hauds a bottlie o hooch,
Chored frae the grocer, Bill McGraw.
'If ye wint tae be in the Y.T. C.
Dee fit we tell ye. Oor wird's law.'

Newt is chitterin, his claes are thin.
Bides wi his gran.... She's a coorse auld troot.
King o the causie, kickin at a tin,
Newt luvs Mo, bit he cannie spit it oot.

The street is cauld, and the street is teem.
Anely the tom cats strut their stuff,
Roon the dug-pished waas o the cooncil scheme
Far the tellies growl, an the lullaby's gruff

The video plays. Aa the doors are shut.
The pack yowls oot 'ARE YE EEN 0 US?'

Kimberley-Anne gotta giftie fae a frien...
Wrappit roon wi tin-foil. Daith in the bluid.
Kimberley-Anne she sits her leen,
Wauked wi the dragon on a short, short, lead.
Her wee dall's face is a mask o steen.
A knife in her bosie, a wirm in her heid.