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.