my mind And at school or at college the basis of knowledge I never could gulp 'til with whiskey combined And as older I'm growing times ever bestowin
I'm wearin' awa', Jean Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, Jean I'm wearin' awa' To the land o' the Leal There 's nae sorrow there, Jean There 's neither cauld
When I was a miller in Fife, Losh! I thought that the sound o' the happer Said, ``Tak' hame a wee flow to your wife, To help to mak' brose to your supper
When o'er the hill the eastern star Tells bughtin time is near, my jo, And owsen frae the furrow'd field Return sae dowf and weary O; Down by the burn
Oh, what a parish, a terrible parish; Oh, what a parish is that o' Dunkeld. They hangit their minister, droon'd their precentor, Dang doun the steeple
Come gather 'round you freeborn men And draw your chairs to mine. And I'll tell you of my country, That you might understand. And of the English armies
Pity the fate of a poor Irish stranger, That wanders so far from his home, That sighs for protection from want, woe, and danger, That knows not from which
Tibbie Fowler o' the glen, there's ower mony wooin' at her Tibbie Fowler o' the glen, there's ower mony wooin' at her Ten cam' east and ten cam' west
My heart was ance as blithe and free As simmer days were lang; But a bonie, westlin weaver lad Has gart me change my sang. Chorus.-To the weaver's gin
Where are you tonight I wonder And where will you be tonight when I cry? Will sleep for you come easy, Though I alone can't slumber Will you welcome in
Instrumental
Will ye go tae Flanders, Young Jimmy-o? Oh will ye go tae Flanders, Young Jimmy-o? There you'll get wine and brandy And medals find and dandy, O will
of Cromdale The M'Gregors fought like lions bold M'Phersons, none could them control M'Lauchlins fought like loyal souls Upon the Haughs of Cromdale M'Leans, M'Dougals and M
Oh, there're sober men in plenty, And drunkards barely twenty, There are men of over ninety That have never yet kissed a girl. But gie me a ramblin' rover
Up wi' the carls o' Dysart, And the lads o' Buckhaven, And the kimmers o' Largo, And the lasses o' Leven. Chorus.-Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro', For we hae
I am a ramblin' Irishman It's Ulster I was born in And manys the happy hour I spent On the banks of sweet Loch Erin Ah but to live poor I could not endure
Oversettelse: Andy M. Stewart. At It Again.