T'was a Saturday in May 1986 the day that the nightmare began
We were odds on to win the League and Celtic were 6/1
Auld Reekie was buzzing and the tickets were scarce as champions elect we would be
We had a few drinks, and sang a few songs, then headed off to play Dundee.
Twelve o'clock noon and the buses arrived in a fleet of a thousand or more
We promised our friends we would bring back the League, not knowing what lay in store
As our bus made its way up Gorgie Road, our new song we sang it with pride
One o'clock came and the last bus pulled out, t'was the day our lovely team died.
The scarves and banners they crack in the wind, as we tear up the A85
We felt so excited we just had to win, it felt good just being alive
Our buses we left in Tannadice St, as we all crammed into the ground
Three o'clock came and the whistle was blown, Dens Park was a great wall of sound.
The Jam Tarts attacked and we hit the post a young lad beside us he faints
Half time came soon and the score line was blank, but Celtic put four past the Saints
Oh surely to God we'll keep Dundee out and brother just think if we did
We'd be the champions for the first time in years, but then up stepped Albert Kidd.
Kidd scored again and so did the Celts, and we held our heads in despair
No one believed that we'd lost the League, with just seven minutes to spare
Some of our players fled in dismay, and looked for a good place to hide
We stood around, helpless confused, the day our lovely team died.
A visit to Dens is so eerie today, our can sorrow can know no relief
The nightmare you caused is still with us today from Tynecastle right down to Leith
The souvenirs gathered we all left behind, our programs and tickets are gone
The air speaks a deafening silence, but the name Albert Kidd lingers on.
