This is a tale about a couple of Scottish guys who camped next to us at Bloodstock 2011, they were completely awesome in that they never seemed to sleep the whole time, were high on speed constantly and had a jar of boiled eggs which they ATE, despite the fact they smelled of baby shit.
Two Glaswegians, in a one man tent
Jar of eggs, and a bag of speed
Accent thick, it's too Scottish to tell
Speaking at one decibel
No thank you, I don't want an egg
They smell like fucking death
It's ok I don't want your speed
I just want to go to sleep
Early morning, a plume of smoke arises
Like an mushroom cloud
Who the fuck has a bong at 5 am, just after waking up?
Father/son? I couldn't say?
All I'm sure of is - they're not gay
But it's just because they're Glaswegians
Why do I feel so unsafe?
Where my pants to bed, just in case...
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