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Traditional Celtic Music, Scottish Songs & Border Ballads
Scots' musician, songwriter, & balladeer.
Hazel Whyte
Scots' Music
Row Bullies Row
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Were the outdated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.
From Liverpool to ‘Frisco a-roving I went
For to stay in that country it was my intent
But girls and strong whiskey, like other damned fools
I soon was transported back to Liverpool

Chorus:
And it’s row, row bullies row
Them Liverpool Judies have got us in tow

I shipped on “The Alaska” laid out in the bay
A-waiting for a fair wind to get under way
The sailor’s all drunk and their backs’ is all sore
The whiskey’s all done and we can’t get no more

Now here comes our first mate in his jacket of blue
A-looking for work for us sailors to do
it’s “jib-topsail halyards” he loudly does roar
and “stay aloft Paddy, ye son of a wh***”

Here’s a health to captain where e’er he may be
He’ a friend to the sailor on land or on sea
But as for that first mate, that son of a brute
I hope when he dies, straight to Hell he’ll sky-hoot.
Tab/Sheet Music
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