GGLC Come all ye persons of goodwill,
From Newton Mearns to Maryhill,
Rattle the chains and launch the boat
And get it properly afloat.
I bash this poem against the bow,
Name it G.G.L.C., and endow
Its future cruise with benedictions,
Sailing past all feuds and frictions.
Come all ye lovers and affairs,
Singles, discrete souls, and bears,
Straightest of straights, bentest of bents,
Carbolic scrub, Armani scents,
Doc Martens girls, minikilt boys,
Buyers of exotic toys,
Opera queens, ballet queens,
And all the hesitant in-betweens,
Trendsetters and anoraks,
Underdogs looking for whacks,
Indomitably spring-heeled dykes
Sweeping up on mountain bikes,
Jessies with attitude, closet cases,
Solicitors with bright red braces,
Levis with a coloured hanky
To signal the right hanky-panky,
Lurex and Spandex and other ex-es
To mix the senses and the sexes,
But if you should prefer a suit
We'll certainly no pit ye oot,
For this is where we all can meet
Down by the river in Dixon Street,
And the Broomielaw rolls on to the sea
With the happy cargo of G.G.L.C.