(Tune: Ma Ain Folk.
Words: Duncan Macrae)
Faur frae ma hame ah've
An ah never will return,
Tae ma ain close in the Gorbals,
Juist alang frae Jenny's Burn,
For they're pullin doon the buildin,
An ah doot ah canny bide,
For they're gonnae mak the Gorbals,
Like New York or Kelvinside.
An it's oh, but ah'm longing for ma ain close,
It wis nane o yuir wally, juist a plain close,
An ah'm nearly roon the bend,
For ma ain wee single-end,
Fareweel tae dear old Gorbals,
An ma ain close.
There's ma pal gaun in the
If ye follie him ye'll find,
Although he's tired an drouthy,
He's got something on his mind,
For he bides up twenty storeys,
So he canny drink his fill,
He micht get up there safely,
Then faa owre the windae sill.
They'll never be forgotten,
The days that we lived through,
When we hung aboot the Gorbals,
An we sterved on the Buroo,
Wi the lassies playing peever,
An the laddies sclimmin dykes,
An the weemin gaun thir dusters,
An the polis gaun thir bikes.