On a hot day in May, twenty five years today,
We set off on our now famous trail,
We had barrels of stout when we first started out
And a rake of escudoes for bail.
At right back was Jim Craig, a notorious Taig,
He’d pull your teeth out without even trying,
Tommy Gemmill, of course, he could kick like a horse,
Scored the goal for the Lisbon Lions.
There was wee wispy Wallace, and his passing it was flawless,
From the Hearts he was glad he had came,
And wee Bertie Auld, Crafty Bert as he was called,
He soon stamped his name on the game.
Stevie Chalmers popped up, and the Celts won the Cup,
Through the air ’keeper Certey was flying,
But yer man from Milan did not quite capisce,
He’d been thrown to the Lisbon Lions.
Joseph McBride wore the colours with pride,
On the goal-charts the top he was flying,
’Cause his thirty odd goals took the Celts out of holes,
That’s why Joe is a Lisbon Lion.