Broadford Bazaar

Dirty white caravans down narrow roads sailing
Vivas, Cortinas, weaving in their wake
With hot, red-faced drivers, horns' flattened fifths wailing
Putting trust in blind corners as they overtake.

And it's all come willing now
Spend a shilling now
Stack up the back of your new motor-car
There's home-dyed woolens
And wee plastic Cuillins
The day of the Broadford Bazaar.

Out of the north, no oil-rigs are drifting
And jobs for the many are down to the few
Blue-bottle choppers, they visit no longer
Like flies to the jam pots, they were just passing through.

And it's all come willing now
Spend a shilling now
Stack up the back of your new motor-car
Where once stood oil-rigs so phallic
There's only swear-words in Gaelic
To say at the Broadford bazaar.

All kinds of people come down for the opening
Crofters and cottar's, white settlers galore
And up on the hill, there's an old sheep that's dying
But it had two new lambs born just a fortnight before.

And it's all come willing now
Spend a shilling now
Stack up the back of your new motor-car
We'll take pounds, francs and dollars from the well-heeled
And stamps from the Green Shield
The day of the Broadford Bazaar.