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 p___h 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 a__ as dirty as the Clyde

He staggered home that night
His kilt was dripping p___
He stopped te boch on a minister's frock
And he raised his drunken fist

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