Mary McGill frae Maryhill,
Loved to give the lads a thrill,
At the disco on a Saturday night,
As she hunted for her Mr Right.
Mary tended at the First and Last Boozer,
Flashing her boobs at every sad, drunken loser,
Eating pies by the dozen as she served up the beers,
Her thirty stone chassis reduced grown men to tears.
Jack (The Blade) Jones frae Barr-L,
Was truly the neighbour from Hell,
With his gang of wild brats,
He sliced tails off wee cats.
Jack, never had a steady job in his life,
Except mugging pensioners with his long Bowie knife,
But he studied with glee the tricks of his trade,
And once free from Barlinnie, a bank he would raid.
Bessie Muldoon hailed from Bearsden,
Bitchiest bitch; hater of men,
Detested police and the establishment too,
In fact, most of all - she hated you!
Bessie worked part-time for the Scottish Socialist Party,
Planning revolutions, and strikes, and total anarchy,
But she drove to the office in her open top Jags,
For girls from Bearsden don’t go from riches to rags.
Paddy Murphy from Partick,
Lived with his mum in a tiny attic,
And religiously every Saturday,
Went to see the Billy Bhoys play.
Paddy’s work was his pet hate,
For as a junior, jinner’s mate,
He suffered teasing each day at least,
Just ‘cos his father was a bloody priest.
Aaeesha Bwaam from Renfrew,
Skipped school ‘cos she knew,
Her looks would take her to the top,
No work for her in a dim corner shop.
Aaeesha would become a super-model,
Practiced daily, strutting her runway waddle,
Soon saying goodbye to slums with six in a bed,
The glamour of catwalk would be hers instead.
Cyril Smyth-Blyth from Milngavie,
Had an ensuite - not a lavvy,
For his flat, though the size of a larder,
Was his first step onto the property ladder.
Cyril was a solicitor trainee,
Big headed, geeky, but particularly brainy,
He treated the poor with considered derision,
And would happily throw the whole bunch into prison.
Alice Hendry from Denniston,
Always looked menacing,
In her black Gothic gear,
She filled young men with fear.
Alice’s job; social service to the slums,
Helping the needy, down and outs, and bums,
Each day she was there, on her very own patch,
Pushing ecstasy and dope by the snort or the batch.
Mohamidd Zambabay from the Gorbils,
A refugee who’d survived many war kills,
Was happy to find safety once more,
With ninety-two others on the sixty-first floor.
Mo had set himself up as a computer consultant,
His programs computed council tax resultant,
The internet was his number one passion,
Downloading pictures of boys - in minimalist fashion.
Christmas 2000 altered all of their lives,
Dancing, romancing and an incident with knives,
A disco in Glasgow, the drama was set,
The Sauchiehall Garage, in dark humid sweat.
From all across town, on a cold wintry night,
Our heroes had come for music, dancing and fight,
And when they departed and set off for hame,
Each life would be changed - never more be the same.