Young Frankie walked, one Saturday morn
Through Glasgow, Frankie’s hame
Nowt better to do, just wasting time
Wallet not even holding a dime
No chance of watching the Hoops today
Hoy! Frankie! A voice did shoot
Have ya got summit planned?
Or ya seeing Noot
We need another man
Save us if ya can
I suppose that i’ll be doin noot
I haven't even got Ma boots
That's nowt I have a thousand here
Go on man play, and I'll get ya a beer
If ya make it two…
then I will play for you
For Johnstone Burgh, one season through
He should them all that he could do
While sweeping up the streets right through
And then St Mirren came
Hoy Frankie! Sign ya name
Forty eight goals, from central midfield
Over five years, not a bad yield
Then the Sassenachs came to town
Throwing all their money around
Like bubbles in the air
Striking as a Hammer, led to glee
Forty six goals the fans did see
From Frankie and the midget Cottee
We need more bubbles please
Hey mister! Where's the birds?
Then in the autumn of ‘87
Frankie got a call, that was greater than heaven
Rekindling the dreams, when he was a boy
No more in Londons streets he would roam
To Paradise, He was going home
Hail! Hail! The Celts are here!
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