Oh where is the Glasgow where I used to stay?
White, wally closes done up wi’ pipe clay,
Where you knew everybody, first floor to third,
And to keep your door shut was considered ubsurd.

Where are the weans that once played in the street?
Wi’ a jorrie, a peerie, a gird wi’ a cleet,
Can they still cadge a hudgie or dreep aff a dike,
Play hunch cuddy hunch, kick the can, and the like?

And where is the wee shop where I used to buy,
A quarter o’ totties, a tuppenny pie,
A bag o’ broke biscuits, a wee sodie scone,
An’ the wummin aye asked , ‘how’s yir maw gettin on’?

And where is the cludgie? That cosy wee cell.
The string fae the cistern. I remember it well.
Where I sat wi’ a caunle, and studied the rags,
A win for the Auld Firm, a loss for the Jags.

Where is the tramcar that once did a ton,
Doon Great Western Road on the ol’ Yoker run.
The conductress aye knew how to deal wi’ the nyaff,
‘If yir gaun, weil, cumoan -- if yir no, weil gittaff’.

I think o’ the days o’ my tenement hame.
We’ve got fancy new hooses, but they’re jist no the same.
I’ll swap your gizunders, flyovers and jams,
Fur a tuppenny ride on the old Partick trams.

Gone is the Glesga that I used to know.
Big Wullie, wee Shooie, the Steamie, the Co.
The shilpa wee bachle, the glaikit big dreep,
Yir ba on the slates and yir gas on a peep.

These days wurnae rosy, and money was tight,
The wages hauf finished by Setterday night,
But still we came through it and weathered the ruts,
The reason is simple, our parents had guts.
(ANON)

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Glaswegian Dialect

 

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