Partick Thistle

At Firhill where the Clyde winds slow,
The Jags in red and yellow glow.
A city’s heartbeat, Glasgow’s pride,
Where every match is lived beside.

From the terraces’ eager chant,
To the whistle’s sharp, decisive grant,
Supporters rise, a loyal throng,
Singing verses old and strong.

Through rain‑slicked pitch and summer’s gleam,
They chase the dream, they chase the seam.
Each tackle, pass, and hopeful strike,
Writes stories fans will ever like.

Partick Thistle—more than a name,
A thread that weaves the town’s own flame.
In every goal, in every sigh,
Their spirit flies, they never die.