Well I dreamt I scored the winning goal, for the team I supported since I was a boy
I ran to the Jungle with my hands in the air like Bobby Lennox or Yogi Bear
and the jungle swelled and the scarves flew high, I was sure I could hear my Daddy cry
the fans all chanted out my name in the floodlit park in the Glasgow rain.

I was only dreaming, dreaming, dreaming I played for Celtic.
Dreaming, dreaming I played for Celtic.

With the atmosphere and the TV crews, and my name been mentioned on the news
standing beside big Jock Stein, I was a hero in that famous team
then my mamma called from just outside, my bedroom door that snowy night
I woke to the sound of my mamma's call, and the pictures on my bedroom wall.

I was only dreaming, dreaming, dreaming I played for Celtic.
I was only dreaming, dreaming I played for Celtic.

Well there isn't a boy in this world today, who doesn't dream about his heroes
like being able to fly like superman or being a pop star with the screaming fans.

Now many years on from the good old days, I look at Celtic park and all of the change
it's not the same as it was for me, in the cold winter nights of the old sixties
then I ask me son does he ever dream about playing for his favourite team
he said Daddy I run with my hands held high, I'm Henrik Larsson and I ask him why
he said, I've just scored a goal its number 4 and the good times are knocking on our door
I can see the flags of white and green and Marin O'Neil jumping like a bean
and the fans are crying out my name; please don't take my Larsson away
I looked up to row 53, and I could see you looking down on me
I was sure you had a tear in your eye, and from heaven I could hear my grandad cry

I was only Dreaming, dreaming, dreaming of playing for Celtic.
I was only dreaming, dreaming I played for Celtic.

Daddy I was only dreaming.......continue to fade