If you've ever watched The Singing Kettle, you'll remember this yin!
I'm a skyscraper wean, I live on the nineteenth flair,
An' I'm no gaun oot tae play ony mair,'
Cause since we moved tae Gracemount I'm wasting away,'
Cause I'm getting one less meal everyday.
Oh, yae cannae fling pieces oot a twenty storey flat,
Seven hundred hungry weans 'ill testify tae that,
If it's butter, cheese or jeely, if the breid is plain or pan,
The odds against it reaching earth are ninety-nine tae wan.
On the first day ma maw flung oot a daud o' Hovis broon,
It came skytin' oot the widae and went up instead o' doon,
Noo every twenty-seven hoors it comes back intae sight,
'Cause my piece went intae orbit and became a satellite.
On the second day ma maw flung me oot a piece again,
It went an' hit the pilot of a fast low flying plane,
He scraped it aff his goggles, shouting through the intercom'
"The Portybelly Reds have got me wi' a breid an' jeely bomb".
On the third day ma maw thought she'd try another throw,
The Salvation Army band was standin' doon below,
"Onward Christian Soldiers" was the piece they should have played,
But the oompah man was playing on ma piece and marmalade.
So we've wrote away tae Oxfam tae try an' get some aid,
An' a' the weans in Gracemount have formed a piece brigade,
We're gonnae march on the City Chambers demanding civil rights,
Like nae mair hooses ower piece-flinging heights.