Dirty white caravans down narrow roads sailing.
Vivas, Cortinas, weaving in their wake
With hot, red faced drivers, horns' flattened filths wailing
Putting trust in blind corners as they overtake
And it's 'Oh, come willing now
Spend a shilling now
Stack up the back of your new motor car'
There's home dyed woolens and wee plastic Cullins
The day of the Broadford bazaar.

Out of the north no oil rigs are drifting
And jobs for the many are down to the few
Blue bottle choppers, they visit no longer.
Like flies to the jampots, they were just passing through.

And it's 'Oh, come willing now
Spend a shilling now
Stack up the back of your new motor car'
Where once stood oil rigs so phallic
There's only swear words in Gaelic
To say at the Broadford bazaar.



All kinds of people come down for the opening
Crofters and cottars, white settlers galore.
And up on the hill, there's an old sheep that's dying.
But it has two new lambs born just a fortnight before.

And it's 'Oh, come willing now
Spend a shilling now
Stack up the back of your new motor car'
We'll take pounds, francs and dollars from the well heeled
And stamps from the Green Shield.
The day of the Broadford bazaar.