And now for some of the first Bhoys I ever met. The Jungle Bhoys. Flat caps, soft hats, trilbies even tammies Shuffling in their thousands and none feared any rammies. Kids with men, and women too, they took their pride of place, These Celtic spirits highly charged and most were off their face! Pish ran down the concrete steps and sometimes down your legs In your pocket, anywhere, they’d just shake off the dregs You’d turn to see who done it, then quickly look away Battered faces, scars, the lot, it just was not your day! It’s nearly time for kick-off and the stench near made you sick The Jungle was now jumping as they welcomed on the ‘Tic The cheapest wines flowed down their necks, they were always willing To drink their Lannie or El D, swilling for a shilling! They suffered it for Celtic’s sake, they said it helped them roar And God, I didn’t believe them, until the Celtic scored You couldn’t see or hear a thing above the Jungle’s noise Chaos ruled and polis ran to flee the Jungle Bhoys! Hot pies tossed into the pish, gave off jets of steam The smell was bloody awful, still they suffered for their team But the atmosphere was something else, though most of them won’t know How they managed to get home or who played in Celtic’s show! They were having their own show, the rest just sang along But Parkhead came to life for us when the Jungle was on song Bring it back for just one day and let the young ones see the light, So they can reminisce like me of wondrous Celtic nights. Yes they’ve gone and dwindling crowds, may seem that we have lost But inside you is where you’ll find, that mighty Jungle’s ghost Yes you’ll be back and you will taste, a flavour of back then When glory days were every day, Oh yes! They’ll come again. The Holy Poet.
Posted on: Mon, 22 Jul 2013 20:37:36 +0000
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