Author: David Gilfillan

Now all you jolly collier lads, listen unto me

You know how we are sore oppressed by masters’ tyranny

For improvement of the mines, no leisure time is found

Our children are neglected to be working underground

Chorus

Frae Newtongrange and Arniston, frae Polton and Gorebrig,

Frae Birkenside tae Lasswade, Cockpen and Bonnyrigg,

Frae Rosewell tae Newbattle the Lothian men a’ say

We’re no the likes of ither men that works an eight hour day

Our masters are tyrannical and that they must confess,

They overtax their workmen and do them sore oppress;

No other occupation so dangerous can be found

We cannot call our lives our own while working underground.

The sailor he does plough the main and perils does go through

But he sees the danger coming, which a collier cannot do;

With fallen roofs and firedamp the records can be found

How hundreds yearly lost their lives by working underground.

Now all you jolly collier lads, listen unto me

You know how we are sore oppressed by masters’ tyranny

For improvement of the mines, no leisure time is found

Our children are neglected to be working underground.

Come again, come again ye Burghead men
And sail wi’ the mornin’ tide
Come again, come again through the wind and the rain
To the place where you’ll always bide

Chorus:

And you know when you stand on the Burghead sand

Thou the years be ten times ten
You’ll aye be a slave to the ocean wave
Till your back on the sea once again

When the fishing’s done, the harvest won
Make good your boats guide
Tae the harbour gate, where the woman wait
Till you’re safely by their side

Born in the lee of the great North Sea
Where the weepin’ willows lapped
Married at birth to the Moray Firth
And the deck o’ a fishin’ craft

Come again, come again ye Burghead men
Tae the Broch where you’ll aye belong
To the Dewar’s Well the Claive’s smell
And the Oyster catchers song

chorus:
Some hae meat and cannae eat
Some would eat that want it
But we hae meat and we can eat
So let the Lord be thankit

From my armchair window on this world
Before my eyes appearing
Food for breakfast dinner, tea
And in between meals feeding

From my armchair window on this world
I see butter mountains rising
Fish thrown back into the sea
And leaders compromising

And then I see one bowl of rice
And a child’s eyes staring at me
With feeble bones life never owned
Reaching out to touch me

Just down the road a million miles
Our children they are crying
Too weak to eat they’ve got no meat
They spend their living dying

The ill divisions of this world
Exist because we let them
The choice is ours ‘tween need and greed
To help or just forget them

Chorus

Dreams to sell, fine dreams to sell,

Angus is here with dreams to sell.

Hush now wee bairnie and sleep without fear,

For Angus will bring you a dream, my dear.

Can you no hush your weepin’?

All the wee lambs are sleepin’.

Birdies are nestlin’, nestlin’ taegether,

Dream Angus is hurtlin’ through the heather.

Sweet the laverock sings at morn,

Heraldin’ in a bright new dawn.

Wee lambs, they coorie doon taegether

Alang with their ewes in the heather.

List tae the curlew singing

List tae its echos ringing

even the birds and beasties are sleeping

but my bonnie bairnie’s weepin’ weepin’ 

Here’s forty shillings on the drum

To those who volunteer to come,

To list and fight the foe today

Over the Hills and far away. 

Chorus

O’er the hills and o’er the main

Through Flanders, Portugal and Spain

King George commands and we obey

Over the hills and far away

When duty calls me I must go

To stand and face another foe

But part of me will always stray

Over the hills and far away

If I should fall to rise no more

As many comrades did before

Then ask the pipes and drums to play

Over the hills and far away

Then fall in lads behind the drum

With colours blazing like the sun

Along the road to come what may

Over the hills and far away

Chorus

What will a the lads do when Maggie gangs away? 

Oh What will a the lads do when Maggie gangs away? 

There’s no a hert in a this land that doesna dreed the day 

An oh what will a the lads do when Maggie gangs away? 

Young Jock has ta’en the hill for’t a waefu white is he 

Poor Harry’s taen the bed for it an laid him doon tae dee 

An Sandy’s gaen intae the kirk an learnin fast tae pray 

But oh what will the lads do when Maggie gangs away? 

The young Laird o the Langshaw has drunk her health in wine 

The priest has said in confidence the lassie was divine 

An that is mair in maiden’s praise than ony priest should say 

But oh what will the lads do when Maggie gangs away? 

The wailin in oor green glen that day will quaver high 

Twill draw the redbreast frae the wood, the laverock frae the sky 

The faeries frae their beds of dew, will rise an join the lay 

But oh what will the lads do when Maggie gangs away 

The old days have gone that had use for a man

Who supported his lairdship, protecting his land

Who in times of unrest, he would have died for his lord

Now the soldiers of England have taken his broadsword

Chorus 

And there’s fire in the glen, fire in the glen

But no fire in the eyes of our Highland men

And there’s fire in the glen, fire in the glen

But no fire in the eyes of our Highland men

And the laird has a smile for the makers of graves

For the builders of empires and the keepers of slaves

For he kept his great home losing nothing but pride

Though his kinsmen lay huddled along the shoreside

So beware of their banners and the General’s lies

There’s no glory for the poor man, no glittering prize

For we gave all we had, now our homes they fall down

And I cry out “Republic” and allegiance to no crown

The old days have gone that had use for a man

Who supported his lairdship, protecting his land

Who in times of unrest, he would have died for his lord

Now the soldiers of England have taken his broadsword

Our thrissles flourish’d fresh and fair,
And bonnie bloom’d our roses;
But Whigs cam like a frost in June,
An wither’d a’ our posies.

CHORUS
Awa, Whigs, awa!
Awa, Whigs, awa!
Ye’re but a pack o traitor louns,
Ye’ll do nae guid at a’.

Our ancient crowns fa’n in the dust;
Deil blin’ them wi the stoure o’t,
An write their names in the black beuk
Wha gae the Whigs the power o’t!

Our sad decay in church and state
Surpasses my descriving:
The Whigs cam o’er us for a curse,
An we hae done wi thriving.

Grim Vengeance lang has taen a nap,
But we may see him waukin:
Gude help the day when Royal heads
Are hunted like a maukin! 

She really is a beauty queen 

a right wee cracking stoater

And every day I pinch myself 

cause I cannie believe I’ve got her

We’er walking out noo every night 

sometimes tae the pictures

And ah ma mates are asking me 

does she have any sisters

Chorus

She’s a classy lassie wi a slim line chassis

I really think she’s braw

When we went out walking and we started talking 

She stole my heart awa

Classy lassie wi the slim line Chassis 

I’ve been invited tae her house 

To meet her mother and father

She’s told me to behave myself

And no tae start and haver

Watch my p’s and Q’s what knife to use

And dinna start nae bother

But I widna be sae bloody daft 

She’s got a bruiser for a brother

I knew that she fancied me

The day she slapped my lug

A love her using ma pet name

She always calls me plug

I’ve lost ah interest in fitba 

Ma pals they laugh and giggle

But I’m no playing darts or pool

I’m playing slap and tickle.

Ye banks and braes o’ bonnie doon

How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair

How can ye chant ye little birds

And i sae weary full o’ care.

Chorus. Ye’ll break my heart ye warbling birds

That wanton through the flowery thorn

Ye ‘mind me o’ departed joys

Departed never to return

Oft hae i roved by bonnie doon

To see the rose and woodbine twine

And ilka bird sang o’ its love

And fondly sae did i o’ mine

Wi’ lightsome heart i pulled a rose

Full sweet upon its thorny tree

And my false lover stole my rose

But ah she left the thorn wi’ me