| 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 |
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| Irish' Music |
| Boys Of Mullachbawn |
| 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. |
On a Monday morning early As my wand'ring steps did lead me, Down by a farmer's station, Of meadow and green lawn, I heard great lamentation That the wee birds they were makin' Sayin' "We'll have no more engagements With the boys of Mullaghbawn." Squire Jackson was un equalled For honour or for reason, He never turned a traitor Or betrayed the rights of man, But now we are endangered By a vile deceiving stranger Who has ordered deportation For the Boys of Mullachbawn. As those heroes crossed the ocean I'm told the ship in motion Did stand in wild commotion As if the seas ran dry, The trout and salmon gaping As the cuckoo left her station Sayin', "Farewell to lovely Erin And the hills of Mullaghbawn. To end my lamentation We are all in consternation For the want of education I here must end my song; None cares for recreation Since without consideration We are sent for transportation From the hills of Mullachbawn. |