We stumble and cut through the red light smoke,
celebrating on Amsterdam’s cobbles,
the air horns blare now as distant,
as the thought of European Cup defeat.
We dance a jig to Charlie and George,
praise the pinstriped Bhoys,
raise a toast to the velvet smooth brogue
that’s the last line of defence.
A gentle laid back giant,
in shiny yellow,
lanky legs exposed,
alert as a hawk under a post-punk mop.
The Undertones have lost a member,
next door has lost a boy,
but we have found a goalie.
With hands as tough as Donegal’s cliffs,
beating away Cruyff free-kicks,
like they repel the Atlantic’s might.
He saves our dreams,
grows tall with the pride our identity brings,
catching our founder’s soul,
like a cross hanging high in the sky,
making sure it will never be dropped
with Big Packie in the goal.
Kevin GrahamListen to the latest episode of the award-winning A Celtic State of Mind