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