Union Terrace Blues


I got those Union Terrace Blues
I read about them in the news
How the council wanted
To do a little decking
A little digging
And a little fecking around
With our public hallowed ground

They say it’ll help the economy
But at what price?
It may be naive of me
And it would be rather nice
To believe that old chestnut
About regeneration
Normally a byword for exploitation
And the carving up of our world
To suit those with the biggest knives
Who make decisions
Without reference
To any of our lives

‘City Square’ does have a certain ring to it
Like ‘Millenium Dome’ or ‘Watkins Diet’
Neither of which really delivered
The promise their names suggested
Like ’Scotland’s World Cup Hopes’
Or ‘Ethically Invested’
The jargon of self-delusion
Is well known in our land
So we should be capable
Of seeing through the confusion
We should be able
To make a stand

Sir Ian Wood is simply acting to form
His arguement seems to be
When we run out of oil
We’ll need to find another way
of destroying every tree
According to him we are parochial,
provincial, off the beat
Exempt from the world-wide
Crusade to encase
Every green space
In concrete

If the gardens are the lungs of the city
And Union Street the spine
What does that make the council?
What does that make that
Granite-faced little band?
The head? The heart?
The open generous hand?
My own guess would be a body part
Less glamorous than that
A pair of puckered lips perhaps
Used for kissing corporate ass

They’re not all bad of course
Some voted against the change
And to them I give my thanks
And hopes that their names
Will not be forgot
When the time comes
To stop the rot

And of course we’ve got
Annie on our side!
Who rightly says she can’t abide
A bunch of oily suits
Who claim to have their roots
In auld Aberdeen town
Like the trees which have been here
A damn sight longer than any of these clowns
I reckon Miss Lennox
Should give them a song
A life-affirming ditty
To let them know how shitty
Their plans sound to us all

So we’ve got angry locals
Up against a multi-millionaire
A familiar little tale
Which is easily compared
To Mr. Trump
The man with the undeniable hair
Who also thinks that
From his herculean heights
He can see further and farther
Than we poor unwashed tykes
Mibbe we should put them in a room together…

So finally
I bring best wishes and greetings
From Glasgow City
My own home town
And I feel it’s a pity
Sir Ian didn’t try
His brand of bullshit
In my back yard
He may have found it rather hard
To peddle his corporate pish
With a weegie ned
Giving him a Glasgow kiss!

Union Terrace Blues


Joined September 2012

  • Artist

Artist's Description

Fairly self-evident if you come from the northeast. Plan to destroy ancient trees and park slap bang in the middle of Aberdeen. Dontcha just love those planners!

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