Aloha.
As we leave the sun-drenched shores of Glasgow behind,
we see the children leaping up and down
with their hands in the air.
Are they happy?
No.
They've got broken bottles stuck in the soles of their feet.
Clyde Coast landladies
are looking bored.
The absence of tourists has got them floored.
Every question they're asking
would make you swoon.
Why don't they come back
to Dunoon?
Why this swinging resort?
This switched-on scene?
Has three pubs,
two cafes
and a fag machine.
And hills you can walk up
while the rain is running down?
Why don't they come back
to Dunoon?
Long time ago,
people would flow in,
even from overseas.
But in recent years,
the only ones on the piers
have been seagulls
and a few CND.
At this point in the song,
ladies and gentlemen,
we would like to remind you of a competition
held in the Glasgow newspapers,
where the first prize was a week in Dunoon,
and the
second prize was a fortnight in Dunoon.
They can't understand it.
I hear them roar.
We've got yanks here and fairies
by the score.
And a nightlife that stops in
the afternoon.
Why don't they come back
to Dunoon?