From The Slopes Of Old Parkhead
On the slopes of old Parkhead,
by Daniel McDonagh
The heritage of our heart,
The battlecry was the Celtic songs
As the Celts played on the park.
Were Dalglish was once crowned King,
When Nicholas was the champagne kid,
Where Murdoch was the Parkhead hero,
Where Thompson made heroic saves.
For years I stood on the terracing
In the heart of the Celtic “Jungle”,
Were voices would reach out and sing,
As Johnstone terrorized defenders on the wing.
I recall the glorious Jock Stein years
With McNeill and Clark showing no fear,
The historic achievement of “9-in-a-row”,
How sadly I remember Dalglish being sold.
How Athletico Madrid put themselves to shame
When their talents were for a boxing ring not a football game,
As Jinky was the target of their fist’ and boots,
As the wee man ended up black and blue.
And what a night for the green & white,
When in ’79, they put up a fight,
With 10 men playing the Glasgow Rangers,
A 4-2 win made them League Champions.
From the slopes of old Parkhead, I stood with pride,
Watching Grant & McStay, play in the green & white,
On the sacred pitch, they woe the green,
Playing for the faith of their beloved team.
How the faithful have retraced their father’s steps,
Along the London Road, stopping at pubs on the Gallowgate,
They’ve witnessed games that brought Celtic glory,
And written their names in Celtic’s history.
But the old slopes of Parkhead have been replaced,
As the all-seated stadium has taken their place,
But the songs and the passion, remains just the same,
As the die-hards still celebrate in Celtic’s name.