The red-coat lads, wi’ black cockauds,
     To meet them were na slaw, man;
     They rush’d and push’d, and blude outgush’d
     And mony a bouk did fa’, man: 
     The great Argyle led on his files,
     I wat they glanced twenty miles;
     They hough’d the clans like nine-pin kyles,
     They hack’d and hash’d, while braid-swords, clash’d,
     And thro’ they dash’d, and hew’d and smash’d,
     Till fey men died awa, man. 
     La, la, la, la, &c.

     But had ye seen the philibegs,
     And skyrin tartan trews, man;
     When in the teeth they dar’d our Whigs,
     And covenant True-blues, man: 
     In lines extended lang and large,
     When baiginets o’erpower’d the targe,
     And thousands hasten’d to the charge;
     Wi’ Highland wrath they frae the sheath
     Drew blades o’ death, till, out o’ breath,
     They fled like frighted dows, man! 
     La, la, la, la, &c.

     “O how deil, Tam, can that be true? 
     The chase gaed frae the north, man;
     I saw mysel, they did pursue,
     The horsemen back to Forth, man;
     And at Dunblane, in my ain sight,
     They took the brig wi’ a’ their might,
     And straught to Stirling wing’d their flight;
     But, cursed lot! the gates were shut;
     And mony a huntit poor red-coat,
     For fear amaist did swarf, man!”
     La, la, la, la, &c.

     My sister Kate cam up the gate
     Wi’ crowdie unto me, man;
     She swoor she saw some rebels run
     To Perth unto Dundee, man;
     Their left-hand general had nae skill;
     The Angus lads had nae gude will
     That day their neibors’ blude to spill;
     For fear, for foes, that they should lose
     Their cogs o’ brose; they scar’d at blows,
     And hameward fast did flee, man. 
     La, la, la, la, &c.

     They’ve lost some gallant gentlemen,
     Amang the Highland clans, man! 
     I fear my Lord Panmure is slain,
     Or fallen in Whiggish hands, man,
     Now wad ye sing this double fight,
     Some fell for wrang, and some for right;
     But mony bade the world gude-night;
     Then ye may tell, how pell and mell,
     By red claymores, and muskets knell,
     Wi’ dying yell, the Tories fell,
     And Whigs to hell did flee, man. 
     La, la, la, la, &c.

The Braes O’ Killiecrankie

     Where hae ye been sae braw, lad? 
     Whare hae ye been sae brankie, O? 
     Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad? 
     Cam ye by Killiecrankie, O?

     Chorus.—­An ye had been whare I hae been,
     Ye wad na been sae cantie, O;
     An ye had seen what I hae seen,
     I’ the Braes o’ Killiecrankie, O.

     I faught at land, I faught at sea,
     At hame I faught my Auntie, O;
     But I met the devil an’ Dundee,
     On the Braes o’ Killiecrankie, O.
     An ye had been, &c.