Sunday, 26 November 2006


Roch the wind in the clear day's dawin'
Blaws the cloods heelster-gowdie ow'r the bay
But there's mair nor a roch wind blawin'
Thro' the Great Glen o' the warld the day
It's a thocht that wad gar oor rottans
A' thae rogues that gang gallus, fresh an' gay
Tak the road an' seek ither loanins
For their ill ploys tae sport an' play

Nae mair will the bonnie callants
Mairch tae war when oor braggarts crousely craw
Nor wee weans frae pitheid an' clachan
Mourn the ships sailin' doon the Broomielaw
Broken faimilies in lands we've hairriet
Will curse 'Scotlan' the Brave' nae mair, nae mair
Black an' white yin til ither mairriet
Mak the vile barracks o' their maisters bare

Sae come a' ye at hame wi' freedom
Never heed whit the hoodies croak for
DoomIn yer hoose a' the bairns o' Adam
Will find breid, barley-bree an' paintit room
When MacLean meets wi's friens in Springburn
A' the roses an geans will turn tae bloom
And a black boy frae yont Nyanga
Dings the fell gallows o' the burghers doon.

Hamish Henderson