I'm a skyscraper wean, I live on the nineteenth flair
But I'm no gaun oot to play any mair
Since we moved to oor new hoose, I'm wasting away
'Cause I'm getting one less meal every day
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 odds against it reaching earth are ninety
Nine tae wan
On the first day my maw flung me out a dod o' malted broon
It came skyting oot the windae and went up insteid o' doon
But every twenty-seven hours it comes back into sight
'Cause my piece went into orbit and became a satellite
One the next day my maw flung me oot a piece once
Again.It went and hit the pilot in a fast, low-flying plane
He scraped it aff his goggles, shouting through the intercom
'The Clydeside Reds have got me wi' a breid and-jeely bomb!'