So there they were – a load o’ fowk fae aw o’er, staunin’ aboot.
Suddenly – and a kid yous not – wheech! A hoolie swep in and they were bamboozled.
Then there wus somethin like tungs o’ fire that nipped them.
“Wtf!” they said. “We’re fae Govan, Carantyne, Easterhoose, Drumchapel, Brig’toon, and everywhere north, sooth, west, east – some fae oot o’ toon a the gither…… an’ jeez….. we can a un’erstaund whit these f***ers are sayin.”
Some said – och, come on, they’ve been on the bevvy!
Then big Pete says tae them, “Haud yer wheesh! Ma pals arenae pished. Come on! It’s only 9 in the morn!”
(voice from the crowd: “Av bin neckin’ Bucky since a got up at 6!”)
So Rocky gies him the eye. “Shut the f up! Am gonnie tell yous about a different kinda bevvy – this wan is cried the Spirit whit was prophesied by that auld guy, Joel…. ken? No, Billy Joel, mind.”
And he starts to explain.
(Interrupted by someone in the crowd: “spirits?! Wha can afford them wi’ the new unit prices? Hell, White Lighnins gone up fae 4 quid tae 10! Ffs!”)
But big Pete carries oan- and yous no whit the rest of the story is……….