of the Jungle terracing.)
THE JUNGLE BHOYS.
by The Holy Poet.
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.
