Will ye go tae Sheriffmuir, 
Bauld John o’Innisture, 
There tae see the noble Mar 
And his Hieland laddies. 
A’ the true men o’ the north, 
Angus, Huntly, and Seaforth 
Scourin’ on tae cross the Forth 
Wi’ their white cockadies.

There ye’ll see the banners flare; 
There ye’ll hear the bagpipes rare, 
And the trumpets’ deadly blare 
Wi’ the cannons’ rattle. 
There ye’ll see the bauld McCraws, 
Camerons and Clanranald’s raws 
And a’ the clans, wi’ loud huzzas, 
Rushin’ tae the battle.

There ye’ll see the noble Whigs, 
A’ the heroes o’ the brigs, 
Raw hides and withered wigs, 
Ridin’ in array, man. 
Ri’en hose and raggit hools, 
Sour milk and girnin’ gools, 
Psalm-beuks and cutty-stools, 
We’ll see ne’er mair, man.

Will ye go tae Sheriffmuir, 
Bauld John o’ Innisture, 
Sic a day and sic an hour 
Ne’er was in the North, man. 
Sic can sights will there be seen, 
And gin some be nae mista’en, 
Fragrant gales will come bedeen, 
Frae the waters o’ Forth, man.