It’s Scotland from whence my
And gave me the Pride with which I carry my name,
A Land full of Majestic Ruggedness,
Where the Men wore Kilts and Claymores no less.
Sgian-Dubhs in their Hose
and Dirks on their Belts,
A Targe on their Arm, in the Highlands they dwelt,
A blue Beret on Head with a white Cockade,
For the Jacobite cause they lost their Plaid.
They won back the right to
wear the Kilt,
With a hungry tenacity that will ne’er wilt,
They fought for the right for every Scotsman,
To don his own Tartan, for the love of his Clan.
They fought for their
Freedom, their Homes and their Land,
The Jocks are made of true grit and sand,
From Culloden to Flodden and at Bannockburn,
Their place in History they did truly earn.
From the Snow capped Bens
that stand and bestow,
Their Majesty and protection to the green Glens below,
The Land stands testimony to those great Men,
Who fought for their Freedom, in the time back then.
They fought against
Longshanks and his many Hordes,
And the Land rang loud with, the Clash of Claymores,
They fought in the Heather, the Rocks and the Sands
But sadly it led to the break up of Clans.
Scotland dear Scotland your
Arms are unfurled,
Awaiting your Clansmen from all over the World,
To return to your Highlands, your Heartache to Cease,
To live back in Scotland, and to live there in Peace.