The Grant Street Boys
(Mrs) Eleanor Smith
Through my open windie comes the soun',
The Grant Street boys are comin' doon,
The noise grows loud as they draw near,
Childish voices shrill and clear
As they come marchin' past the gate,
I hear their leader cryin, "Keep straight"
My eyes behold a graun procession,
A credit to the British Nation.
Ane bangs his drum wi' mich an' main,
Ane toots his trumpet wi' great strain;
Ae laddie waves his flag wi' pride,
An drags a trainie by his side;
Some hae larries, some hae trailers,
Some are cowboys, some are sailers,
Ane is a soldier wi' a gun,
(Twas him that made the Jerries run).
Ane is a pilot looking braw,
Anither gies his pipes a blaw.
An trailin' slow, but sure ahin,
Are quinnies lauchin' at the din.
They wheel their prams, they jump an' skip,
An aften gie the laddies lip.
The laddies roar, "Giwa you quines,
Ye're spilin a' oor bonnie lines."
Syne they're abolished frae the ranks,
(Quines are aye deein' silly pranks).
(Aye laddies, ye're the boss the noo,
When she grows up, this day ye'll rue).
They a' turn at the foot o' the street,
Ae laddie fa's an' starts tae greet,
He rins bawlin' tae his mam.
She looks tae see wha's hit her lamb
Up past my gate they thump an' bang
An' thus they play the hale day lang,
Aye laddies ye'll growe tae be men
An long for such days back again.
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