Walking home through Beveridge Park
We heard a zombie moan with a howl in the dark
He said he played for Wraith Rovers
He sounded worse than Olly Murs
Suddenly he started to cry
I looked at him and said 'You've got something in your eye.'
So he poked it out with a stick
It was a half brick
He said, 'That gets on my wick.'
And then...
We were surrounded by the remains of the team they call Wraith Rovers
They had come to pick our brains, the smell of rotting flesh drove us
Half the way to half insane, it was a zombie supernova
They cried, We'll win the league, we'll beat Dundied and Dunfearmline
And Beast Fife and Cowdendeith, Unreal Madrid and Fearnanoord
Because we don't need cash
Because we don't need fed
We are the undead
When the Links Market comes to town
We're gonna take the Ghost Train down
Our pitch is never covered in mud
It's covered in blood
We're never injured
Once at the final whistle
We all attacked the fourth official
But we were disappointed
We could not be fed
He had no brain in his head
No, no...
His head was like a melon - he had no cerebellum
We were reported to the SFA, well, someone had to tell 'em
They couldn't reprimand us for eating his hippocampus
So we ate the referee as well which wasn't so unkind
Cos he was a dirty bastard and permanently blind
Because of all we've seen
Because of all we've said
We are the undead
