Tak oor grund from beneath oor hurdies
Burn oor birches aside the lough,
Besmirch hard fecht fur freedom,
Dictating oor days tae come,
No from the pint o a gun,
Fae laws an promises broken.
Lees an lees spout forth like watter
Lives expended as if they dinnae matter,
Feel the Jacobite spirit again,
Ready tae fecht like scotsmen again,
Like warrior poets risen from the glen,
Fae the mists o the past remember,
Oor freedom wis wun sending Edward hame,
Yon wis the past a new war begun noo,
No wi claymores ,targes an guns,
This time its ideals an Eton buffers,
Those who wid sell oor birthrights
Tae mak us slaves an servile peasants,
Using stealth ,treachery an unco ither weys
Rogues they be crooks ,cheats and thieves
Seeming beyond reproach wi things hidden
Frae us puir mortals aye they wull dae us doon,
Sic a time as this tae fecht fur whit is oors
Naw mair begging fur aa few scraps
Fae a table fu wi guid things ,
Scraps urny fur us we ur free loons
Burthit free an deeing we wull be free,
Ur ye ready tae rise yince agin?
Andrew P mcintyre 14/09/2020
Caledonia her laund is oor laund,
Caledonia her laund is ma laund
A laund wherr ithers ur walcome,
As we haud oot oor hand
In friendship an tak ye aw in,
As brithers fur aw that.
Caledonia we hailse you foriver,
Caledonia the braw kintre,
Whaur fowk ur aye at hame,
Wherr ithers feel richt at hame,
Whaur affront is ne.er oor aim,
An deceit fur laund wi lea alane.
Caledonia yer nae wanes slave,
Caledonia ne,er unner Sassenach fit,
A laund fu o kemps aplenty,
Free tae skail guid rid bluid,
We urny hinder tae scowth-and -roth
An will fecht tae uphaud oor richts.
A kintre o men free wi lealtie tae,
Auld alba caws tae us frae whiles bygane,
Wi sangs an ports fae the pipes ,
Filling the hairt wi pride an courage,
An we will fechttae protect oor ain,
An free auld alba frae colonial pain.
“Gaun an bile yer heid” he bawled oot,
As he stood in the middle o the cobbled street.
Tae nae yin in particular.
Did he vent his anger.
Fu as a whaulk he staggered and swayed
Wan pin rooted tae the graun,
Ither yin moved like a dervish,
Gaun naewhaur fast.
He should of been hame
Wi his wifie and weans
But naw he insisted
Wi a wee refreshment wi his pals.
Jist a hauf an a hauf an a wee blether
Pittin the world tae rights.
But man the craik was brill that nicht
Whit a pity it ended in a fecht.
Nothing though like the fecht
He wid huv when at home.
His wifie stood livid at the door
Tears a dripping ontae the floor
Weans moaning and bawling
Nae dinner again old mans supping fu.
Setterday nicht in Glasga toon
Lying sprawled an fu unner the moon,
©Andrew P McIntyre 2015-05-28.