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It’s fine when ye stand in a queue 
at the door o’ the ‘Dole’
on a snawy day, 
To ken that ye leive in the bonniest 
land in the world, 
The bravest, tae.

It’s fine when you’re in a pickle 
Whether or no’
you’ll get your ‘dough’, 
To Sing a wee bit sang 
o’ the heather hills, 
And the glens below.

It’s fine when the clerk says, 
"Nae ‘dole’ here for you!" 
To proodly turn, 
and think o’ the bluidy slashin’ 
the English got
at Bannockburn.

Listen to "Scottish Pride" in Real Audio read by Marilyn Wright


Standin’ in Hunter’s Bar ae nicht, gey fu’,
A man crushed through the crood and searched my face,
"Guid Christ! "‘he stammered oot," and is it you?" 
I shook his hand, but him I couldna trace.
A thick-set man wi’ wide and empty e’en, 
And big cheek-banes ; a scar upon his broo;
A greasy jacket, fastened wi’ a preen;
And ragged breeks—his kness baith shinin’ through.
"Ye dinna ken me — eh ! — D’ye no’ ha’e min’
O’ Aggie Broon?" At the mention o’ her name
I seemed to sober a’ at yince. —" Aye, fine 
Ye ken me. — I’m the bloke wha stole your ‘flame’."
And for a month his words swan in my brain —
"She’s deid, of course—died wi’ her seeventh wean."

Listen to "In Hunter's Bar" in Real Audio

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