Oh, a young lad named John Thomson,
From the west near Fife he came,
For to play for Glasgow Celtic,
And to build himself a name.

On the fifth day of September,
Against the Rangers club he played,
From defeat he saved the Celtic,
Oh, but what a price he paid.

Oh, the ball rolled to the centre,
And John ran out and dived,
Well, the ball rolled on but John lay still,
For his club, this hero died.

I took a trip to Parkhead,
To that dear old Paradise,
Oh, and as the players came out,
Sure the tears fell from my eyes.

For a famous face was missing,
From the Green and White Brigade,
They told me Johnny Thomson,
His last game he has played.

Farewell my darling Johnny,
Prince of Players we must part,
No more we'll stand and cheer you,
On the slopes of Celtic Park.

Oh, the fans they all are silent,
As they travel near and far,
No more they'll cheer Johnny Thomson,
That bright and shining star.

Ah, so play up Glasgow Celtic,
Stand up and play the game,
Oh, between your posts there stands a ghost,
Johnny Thomson is his name.

Ah, between your posts there stands a ghost,
Johnny Thomson is his name.