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|Men Of Knoydart
|A simple brief
thought on Scottish
Were the outdated
union not of some very
high value to England and
the English, why would
they fight so to try to
There are only so many
slices to a pie, for one to
have more, another must
Lastly - to those Scottish
"Loyalists" - to whom are
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.
|It was down by the farm of Scottas Lord Brocket walked
When he saw a sight that troubled him far more than he
For the seven men of Knoydart were doing what they
They'd staked their claims, they were digging drains on
Brocket's private land
You bloody Reds, Lord Brocket yelled, What's this you're
It doesn't pay, as you'll find today, to insult an English peer
You're only Scottish half wits but I'll have you understand
You Highland swine, these hills are mine, this is all Lord
Then up spoke the men of Knoydart, Away and shut your
For threats from a Saxon brewer's boy we just don't give a
Now we are all ex-servicemen who fought against the Hun
We can tell our enemies by now - Brocket, you are one
When the noble lord he heard these words he turned
purple in the face
He said, These Scottish savages are Britain's black disgrace
I know it's true I've let some few thousand acres go to pot
But the lot I'd give to a London spiv before any bloody Scot
You're a crowd of tartan bolshies but I'll soon have you
I'll write to the Court of Session for an interim interdict
I'll write to my London lawyer and he will understand
Och, to hell with your London lawyer, we want our Scottish
Then up spoke the men of Knoydart, You have no earthly
For this is the land of Scotland and not the Isle of Wight
When Scotland's proud Fianna wi' ten thousand lads is
We'll show the world that Highlanders have a right tae