Battle Of The Somme

Rough the wind in the clear day’s dawning
Blows the clouds heels for gowdie ow’r the bay
But there’s mair nor a rough wind blawing
Through the great glen o’ the world a’ day
It’s a thought that will garrow rottens
A’ thae rogues that ken gallus, fresh and gay
Tak’ the road and see gallus loanins
For they’re ill ‘ployed tae sport and play

Nae mair would the bonnie callants
March tae war when our braggarts crousely craw
Nor wee weans frae parteen and clachan
Mourn the ships sailing doon the Broomielaw
Broken faimlies in lands we’ve herriet
Will curse Scotland the Brave nae mair, nae mair
Black and white ane til ither mairriet
Mak’ the vile barracks o’ thier masters bare

So come all ye at hame wi’ freedom
Never heed what the huddies croak for doom
In your hoose a’ the bairns o’ Adam
Can find bread, barley bread and painted room
When Maclean meets wi’ his friens in Springburn
A’ the roses and geens will turn tae bloom
And a black boy frae off Nyanga
Ding the fell gallows o’ the burghers’ doon