Twas a Saturday in May 1986 the day that the nightmare began,
We were odds on to win the league, Celtic were six to one,
Auld Reekie was buzzing and the tickets were scarce as champions elect we would be,
We had a few drinks, 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, twas the day our lovely team died.

The scarves and they 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 Street, 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 and a young lad beside us he faints,
And half time came soon and the score line was blank, but Celtic put four past the Saints,
Oh, surely to God we'd 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 they 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 sorrow can know ni relief,
The nightmare you caused is still with us today, from Tynecastle right down to Leith,
Our souvenirs gathered, we all left behind, the programs and tickets are gone,
But air speaks a deafening silence and the name Albert Kidd lingers on.