# Scottish glory/Scottish Glory

SCOTTISH GLORY.
Scotch sodgers true, wi’ bonnets blue, Did never in our days, man, Frae people a’, baith great and sma’, E'er get sae muckle praise, man: For wi’ their brose an’ tartan hose, They made the French to rue, man, The bauld attack which they did mak On Scots at Waterloo, man.
Chorus, Fal lal de ral lal, &c.
A philibeg’s the Frenchmens’ plague, The sight they canna bear, man; An’ aff they rin to save their skin, When Highland pipes they hear, man; But if they chance for to advance To fight us ance or twice, man, Our Highland lads will cast their plaids, And drive them down like mice, man.
For ten years past, a’ that did list Have been right sair put till’t, man; And mony a braw Scotsman did fa’ That wore a tartan kilt, man. For lang in Spain, wi’ might and main, They fought owre howes and braes, man ​Our brave lads there they suffer'd sair, For want o' meat and claise, man.
Next owre to France they had to dance, King Louis for to save, man; An' mony a man back never cam, But in it fand his grave, man. Our bonnets blue, at Waterloo, They suffer't warst ava' man; The filthy loons o' French dragoons They nearhand kill'd them a' man.
She form'd her there, in hollow square, Her nainsel’ to defend, man; And there she stood 'mang brither's blood, Until her life did end, man. Up cam the Greys wi' trotting pace, Ahint the Frenchman's back, man: Wi' bluid an' woun's they knapt their crowns, An' kill'd them in a crack, man.
Our bare-hought boys then cheer'd for joy, While on their knees they hurkle'd; And loud did praise the Scottish Greys Wha had their enemies conquer'd; For, warna them they'd a' been slain, As sure's they were alive, man; For ilka man was o' the clan, The French dogs they had five, man.
Wi' Highland rage they did engage,
​An' fast the Frenchmen wounded Wha tried to rin, but couldna win— They were sae well surrounded.— They hack't, an' hash't an' stick't an' slash't, Nae quarters to them gave, man: But wi' a curse set man an' horse To quarter in his grave, man.
Then shill an' heigh the pipes did screigh, The Greys their bugles blew, man; Which made the heart o' Bonaparte To sink on Waterloo, man. ‘ These pipes,' said he, ‘have haunted me, In every place I've gone, man; And here they come again to bum— The Devil break their drone, man.
‘ In Egypt's reel, I mind it weel, They play'd a bonny spring, man; Up gat their braw black Forty-twa, An' danc'd their Highland fling, man. They made me pay their pipes that day, An' kill'd my Frenchmen brave, man; An' made me dance hame owre to France My ain crown'd head to save, man.
‘ So I'm afraid that spring they play’d, This day they will renew, man; I'll better rin while I can win, Afore they come in view, man, I wadna fear the Cossacks sair;
​Wi' spears o' pointit steel, man; But by my feggs, the Scots bare legs, Wad fright the very D—l, man.’
So in a pet, aff hame he set, Nae langer wad he bide, man; The cowardly loun to Paris town, That vera night did ride, man; An' left his men upon the plain, Wha kentna what to do, man; Sae in a bing their guns did fling, An' ran frae Waterloo, man.
So now we've peace; and in that case, We'll hae an interview, man, With our brave boys, chief o' our joys, Wha fought at Waterloo, man: An' Donnel now ance mair will view His mither's whisky pat, man; An' dance, and drink, an' never think Of a' the wounds he gat, man.
Lang may the Scots wear tartan coats, Which is their country's pride, man; Wi' Highland plaid baith lang and braid, To wallop at their side, man. A Highland man's a happy man, He's hardy ay and frisky; He fears nae foes gin he gets brose, An' draps o' Highland whisky.
​Now here's a health to men o' wealth, An' men o' low degree, man; Here's happy lives to men an' wives, An here's to you and me, man. Although my sang be very lang, A langer sang I've seen, man; I'll tak a glass an' let it pass;— Huzza!—God save the King, man!