Edinburgh was bitter today, windy and cold,

I went for a walk, threw on a hat black and bold

 

I didnae realize that the thing on my head

Was a black balaclava, pure rebel wool thread

 

I marched up to town, battled through tourists,

Came to the Tolbooth, where the street is the jurist

 

I used to be good, used to be so quiet,

Now, I want to start a fucking street riot.

 

When walking old streets in soft balaclava,

Beware the rebels of the city of lava.

 

We might not see ghosts of our ancient city,

But you will feel their cold grief and sad lonely pity.

 

If closes could talk and walls could speak,

The tales of Auld Reekie the stones would shriek.