When I think of my home town, seagulls come to mind,
Waking up with sqwakes and scwails from the feathered kind.
Grannys bed was always warm, blankets and sheets of cotton, the cuddles that we used to share will never be forgotten.
When people used to walk and never took a car, Cargill was where we used to go, it never felt that far.
But now-a-days, heaven forbid, would we walk a mile? Down those old familiar streets that used to make us smile.
Why is this town so special with its buildings made in red? The old round O' the water tower, but mount zions brae we'd dread.
The keptie had the rowing boats with ducks and swans to feed,
Now it's got red algy no boats for children's need.
When I was a little girl gargouls used to stare, their faces set in the old town walls to frighten and to scare.
Now I'm grown and not afraid of those funny little faces. Dissapointed that they were moved but glad they are protected,
The springy or the vikky what a choice to make, but both would sometimes happen and our day was made.
By the springy there was a shop, where ten pence mixes were sold, shame they tasted of old nicotine and were usually covered in mould!
Watching the firemen climb the tower, the witches hat, and swings. The cheese cutter, and round-a-bout ., now where are all those things?
Paddeling pool, the helter skelter, switches and Kerrs bus, a poke of chips and drink of coke before the day was over.
Then home we"d go to baths and bed with tcp for sun burn, Smelly shampoo and lots of suds ready for church in the morn.
Sunday mornings back from church to the totem pole we'd climb, like so many things from those old days its gone to auld lang sine.
