I'm a skyscraper wean
I love on the nineteenth flair
But I'm no gaun' oot to play ony mair
Since we moved to Castlemilk
I'm wasting away
Cos I'm gettin'one less meal every day
Oh ye cannae fling pieces oot a twenty-story flat
Seven hundred hungry weans will testify tae that
If it's butter, cheese or jeely
If the breid is plain or pan
The chances of it reaching earth are ninety nine tae wan
On the first day ma maw flung oot a daud o' Hovis broon
It came skytin' oot the windae and went up insteid o' doon
Noo every twenty-seven hours it comes back intae sight
'Cause ma piece went intae orbit and became a satellite
On the second day ma maw flung me a piece oot wance again
It went and hut the pilot in a fast low-flying plane
He scraped it aff his goggles, shouting through the intercom
"The Clydeside Reds huv goat me wi' a breid-an-jeely bomb."
On the third day ma maw thought she would try another throw
The Salvation Army band was staunin' doon below
"Onward Christian Soldiers" was the piece they should've played
But the oompahman was playing a piece an' marmalade
We've wrote away to Oxfam to try an' get some aid
An a' the weans in Castlemilk have formed a 'piece-brigade'
We're gonnae march to George's Square demanding civil rights
Like nae mair hooses ower piece-flinging height
