Amang the trees, where humming bees,At buds and flowers were hinging, O,Auld Caledon drew out her drone,And to her pipe was singing, O:’Twas Pibroch, Sang, Strathspeys, and Reels,She dirl’d them aff fu’ clearly, O:When there cam’ a yell o’ foreign squeels,That dang her tapsalteerie, O.
Their capon craws an’ queer “ha, ha’s,”They made our lugs grow eerie, O;The hungry bike did scrape and fyke,Till we were wae and weary, O:But a royal ghaist, wha ance was cas’d,A prisoner, aughteen year awa’,He fir’d a Fiddler in the North,That dang them tapsalteerie, O.