| 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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| Scots' Music |
| Laird's Prayer |
| A simple brief thought on Scottish Independance. Were the outdated union not of some very high value to England and the English, why would they fight so to try to keep it? There are only so many slices to a pie, for one to have more, another must have less. Lastly - to those Scottish "Loyalists" - to whom are you loyal? Scots royalty died in the 1700's so it can be no Scots crown - And certainly not it appears to those who came before, that bled for Scotland and her freedom ! |
| 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. |
| Oh Lord thou kenst me well Though my name's MacPhee I try to be As English as yersel' Oh God who sends us all things - partridge, grouse, and deer Send the aristocracy to dae some hunting here My loyal Royal ancestors who got me this estate To please their English masters forced the folk to emigrate I'm a simple Highland lairdie, so hear my lairdie's prayer And always on the Sabbath I'll be yours for evermair The fishing here is sacred, there's peace within the glen Since you helped us clear the Highlands of the Sabbath-drinkin' men The empty crofters shielings we've turned into pens For sheep can aye be bought and sold, but men are - well: just men You'll ken this fine, great shepherd, for you would do the same Except your righteous English flock of double-barrelled name How holy is Balmoral, now all our hymns are sung By our betters down in Crathie in the Anglo-Saxon tongue And should the Gaels return, and I am forced to flee Let me be down in London town, nearer, my God, to thee |
| Tab/Sheet Music As Available |