Upon a bracken hill I spied
An army of a heathen *****
Come to bury my clan and pride
Beneath this Scottish moor
Let the wind and rain lash at their skin
Like a thousand cat o nine
For they cannot bury McCloud
His father or his kind
With dirk in hand I lay upon
Heather and moss in bloom
Breath shallow and eyes that glare
Waiting for the pipes to play
The brave Scottish tune
No man shall take my land
Or forsake my creed
I am a Scotsman standing tall
For all that I believe
So do your best beast of hate
Come dine at your ill ment fate
And see how we here in gods land
Extend our fighting hand.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 11:20 AM UTC
Upon a bracken hill I spied
An army of a heathen *****
Come to bury my clan and pride
Beneath this Scottish moor
Let the wind and rain lash at their skin
Like a thousand cat o nine
For they cannot bury McCloud
His father or his kind
With dirk in hand I lay upon
Heather and moss in bloom
Breath shallow and eyes that glare
Waiting for the pipes to play
The brave Scottish tune
No man shall take my land
Or forsake my creed
I am a Scotsman standing tall
For all that I believe
So do your best beast of hate
Come dine at your ill ment fate
And see how we here in gods land
Extend our fighting hand.
