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There’s wooden walls upon our seas,
And volunteers on shore, Sir.
The Nith shall rin to Corsicon,
The Criffel sink in Solway,
Ere we permit a foreign foe,
On British ground to rally.
Ere we permit, &c.
O let us not, like snarlin’ curs,
In wrangling be divided,
Till, slap! come in an unco loun,
And wi’ a rung decide it:
Be Britain still to Britain true,
Amang oursels united,
For never but by British hands
Maun British wrangs be righted.
For never, &c.
The kettle o’ the Kirk State,
Perhaps a clout may fail in’t:
But diel a foreign tinkler lonn
Shall ever ca* a nail in’t:
Our fathers’ blude the kettle bought?
And wha wad dare to spoil it?
By Heavens ! the sacrilegious dog
Shall fuel be to boil it!
By Heavens, &e.
