One of the largest collections of Scottish Ballads & Scots Folk Songs, lyrics, celtic music and downloads available on the internet.
Traditional Celtic Music, Scottish Songs & Border Ballads
Scots' musician, songwriter, & balladeer.
Hazel Whyte
Irish' Music
A Trace Boy
It was once
said to me, and has
been voiced by
many - that the only
difference between the
Scots and the Irish
is that the Scots stopped
fighting.

My response to my Irish
friends is that we
stopped fighting for
good reason.
After putting OUR king
on THEIR throne, WE
thought WE had won !

Sadly the Scots have now
spent four centuries
wondering what
happened ??

Perhaps NOW is the
time to peacefully right
the wrongs of
the past.
In the words
of Burns, as he
wrote from the heart.

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to victorie.

Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lour;
See approach proud Edward's power,
Chains and slaverie.

Wha would be a traitor-knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a Slave?
Let him turn and flie:

Wha for Scotland's king and law,
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Free-man stand, or free-man fa',
Let him follow me.

By Oppression's woes and pains!
By your Sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!

Lay the proud Usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!
Let us Do - or Die!!!

Choose your destiny.
Do ye mind the old horse trams a long time ago,
As they passed through the city at jog trot or slow?
On the level they cantered, but the pace it did kill
When they got to the bottom of Ligoniel Hill.

But the trace-boys were there with a heart and a
hand,
They let down the traces and buckled each band.
The passengers sat on contented and still
When they saw the bold trace-boys of Ligoniel hill.

Away we did canter as fast as the wind,
And left the poor country carts plodding behind;
And that song of the wind in my heart I hear still
As when I was a trace-boy on Ligoniel Hill.

The youth of today hold their heads in the air
And the young girls pass by with a golliwog stare,
Let them pity the crulge on my back if they will
But I once was a trace-boy on Ligoniel Hill.

My friends all departed, and work now so scarce,
The only thing left is a ride in a hearse;
For the sky is my roof and my bed a brick-kiln,
Yet I once was a trace-boy on Ligoniel Hill.