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|The Wag At The
|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Were the outdated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.
I've been hae'in a sociable nicht
W' my cronies a sociable crew,
Oh I've had a drink twa more or less,
And I begin tae suspect that I'm fou!
I'm no very sure where I am,
I'm raither the waur o' the drappie,
It's a quarter tae twa, the last bus is awa',
What does't matter as lang as I'm happy?
She's watchin the wag at the wa',
Cronies, I'll hae tae be leavin',
My conscience, a quarter tae twa,
And I said I'd be hame at eleeven;
So cronies guid-nicht tae ye aa,
Losh, but I'm sweir tae gae 'wa,
But Mistress McCann's waitin up for her man
And she's watchin the wag at the wa'.
When I meet wi' they cronies o' mine,
And we've had a drammie or twa,
When the time comes tae pairt, man it gangs
tae my hairt,
It's a thocht tae gang hame through the snaw;
When a pal puts his airm roond my neck,
And implores me tae bide a while langer,
If he prigs wi me sair, 'It's the wife', I declare,
'I wid stop but for fear o' her anger.'