Larkhall

1. Larkhall The trees grow tall abune the wall that keeps oot all the killjoys, and keeps in all the cowboys, The main street winds roon narrow minds but it takes all kinds of people, some even go tae chapel, Bigotry pours oot the drains like blue blood runs through the veins of princes, and on Sundays, Everybody goes tae church, it disnae cost them very much tae worship, when the pubs are shut. And they tell me that yince you’re ower the wall, It really isnae a’ that bad at all, and a Free Mason can really have a ball, in Larkhall, up in Larkhall. Drums and flutes, mairchin’ boots, purple suits and banners, and that’s juts the toon planners, Songs are sung of battles won by every Loyal son and daughter, lambs tae the slaughter, When everybody walks in pairs and every step they take declares their hatred, naethin is sacred, God wears a fitba’ scarf and the sun sets like an orange sash in the distance, but they’re a’ good Christians. And they tell me that yince you’re ower the wall, it really isnae a that bad at all as long as yer name’s no John Paul, in Larkhall, up in Larkhall. The grass is green but it’s always been and even the Queen of England cannae change it, but ye can always paint it, The pavement too would look bran’ new red, white and blue, just like the pailin’s aroon the playground, Where children learns what’s richt from wrang frae the words they see spray painted on the buildings, and then their ain children, grow up jist the very same wi an attitude that’s never changed for decades, it’s jist a wee place. But they tell me that yince you’re ower the wall, It really isnae a’ that bad at all and the distance tae the moon is very small, in Larkhall, up in Larkhall.