I love to walk on Imlay Street,
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To peer in windows clean.
To chat with coastal characters,
And find out where they've been.
My mind goes back to olden times,
When cars replaced the horse;
When Ramsay's sold the finest tea,
In paper bags, of course.
When Tracey (Tom) sold motor oil,
Down near the bottom pub,
And tyres for your cycle wheels,
Or sprockets for the hub.
Trim Bessie Greig sold dainty stuff,
To suit our ladies fine;
Her fabrics were the finest made,
Her garments so sublime.
All that has changed on Imlay Street,
Now many shops are bare.
But I still love to stroll along,
To shop without a care.