With A Pict
Aye, an' a bit of mackerel, settler rack and down
Ran it down by the home, and I flew
Well, I slapped me and I flopped it down in the shade
And I cried, cried, cried.
The fear a fallen down had taken, never back the raise
And then cried Mary, an' took out wi' your Claymore,
Right outta a' pocket, I ran down, down the mountainside
Back on Battlin the fiery horde that was falling around the feet.
Never! He cried, never shall ye get me alive
Ye rotten hound of the burnie crew!
Well, I snatched fer the blade an' a Claymore cut and thrust,
And I fell doon before him round his feet. Aye!
A roar he cried!
Frae the bottom of his heart
That I would nay fall but as dead,
Dead as I can by a' feet, d'ya ken?
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