| I saw a blue umbrella in Princes Street Garden
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| Heading out west for the Lothian Road
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| An evening news stuffed deep in the pocket
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| Little did I know that even a heavy load
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| I found us walking Grierson’s dockyards
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| Where the only thing working was foreign film crews
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| Making an impressive documentary
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| For the big news
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| To the satellite
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| And all we’re left with is the black black oil
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| With a sense of pride and identity
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| The waters left behind we shouldn’t forget
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| Laid low in the books of history
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| I saw the starlings wheel round Georgian spires
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| Gathering on patrol in the skies
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| In the distance burns the flame of Grangemouth
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| And the dream is lost
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| Everything what it could inspire
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| From the take you know there is no distance
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| How we talk about in the secret affairs
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| Taking our ride into the distance
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| To be what it was or could have been
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| What I should have said
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| And all we’re left with is the black black oil
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| With a strong sense of national pride
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| 'Till we take some more steps to unity
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| Take it back to me Take it back
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| In a city run out of luck
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| And all we’re left with is the black, black oil
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| With a strong sense of national pride
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| Calling the … for identity
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| What it meant to me, what I said
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| What we could have had
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| I saw a blue umbrella in Princes Street Garden
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| Heading out west for the Lothian Road
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| An evening news stuck deep in the pocket
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| Little did I know that he’d fall
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| Carrying a heavy load
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| And all we’re left with is the black black oil
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| With a strong sense of national pride
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| Calling a name in the sake of unity
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| What it means to me you’ll never know
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| You’ll never |