Och ye sae worthless o’ heroic
that ye be nameless on this dreary field,
nae ain kens whar ye cam fae,
nor fae ye, o’ your name
I canna yield..
Ye speak a strange an’ foreign eastern tongue,
an stinky smell fae ye cams ower my nost’
awa ye...an’ staun elsewhar,
an’ tak up wi’ sic’ a scunner lot
as Nick’s vile host..
Nae clan hae ye and useless dae ye staun,
as if we needed such as ye within oor ranks,
nae philabeg forfochen ‘roon yer knees,
o’ useless fart ..exuded fae between
auld withered shanks..
Gang awa fae oor battle lines drawn up.
this day, we face across Drummossie muir,
Gang ye back...tae yer cheap
an’ poxy Dundee ‘hoor..
We’ll win this day within oor northland mist.
The victorie is sure for us nae doot...
but look !!..yon British cannon wreakin’ hellish death,
an’ me..struck doon by grapeshot....
Gie me yer haun guid freen’...an’ turn aboot....
The guid lord hae mercy on yer westryn soul,
as bleeding... ye will niver ken again
the joys o’ highland bare arsed charge,
for ye get paler by the meenit,
far fae yer heather glen..
I niver will be seen in the Romance way
as you ..wha lies upon death’s open door.
I’m jist a loon wi’ keen edged scythe,
cam’ tae fecht for honour’s sake
‘mangst this gore...
I’m fae Dundee...as common as they come,
fae mirky toun as auld..as high tap La’,
but I will gether ye intae my airms
ye dying clansman...
an’ bear ye fae redcoated murder, far awa.
An' niver ever think that I am less than ye
when takin’ coont o’ native Scot
wha fought that patriotic fight
withoot a Laird or highland chief....
for less than ye I’m not....