5
But by my fegs, the Scots bare legs
Wad fright the very D—l, man.
So in a pet aff hame he set,
Nae lager wad he bide, man,
The cowardly loon, to Paris town
That very night did ride, man,
An’ left his men upon the plain,
Wha kentna what to do, man,
Sae in a bing, their guns did fling,
An’ ran frae Waterloo, man.
Now we’ve got peace, and in that case
We’ll hae an interview, man,
Wi’ our brave boys, chief o’ our joys,
Wha fought at Waterloo, man;
An’ Donnel now ance mair will view
His mither’s whisky pat, man,
An’ dance an’ drink, an’ never think
Of a’ the woun’s he gat, man.
Lang may the Scots wear tartan coats,
Which is their country’s pride, man,
Wi’ Highland plaids baith lang and braid,
To wallop at their side, man,
A highland man’s a happy man,
He’s hardy ay and frisky,
He fears nae foes gin he gets brose,
An’ draps o’ Highland whiskey,
Now here’s a health to men of wealth,
An’ men o’ low degree, man;
