Tekst:
Real Mckenzies Clash Of The Tartans

And if you want to find 'em, you kin find 'em in the pub Early in the morning into the dead of night They're closin' down the bar and screamin' about

McTavish worked the factory a common workin' lad Not much to look forward to 'cept drink and being bad He'd show up at the bar and spend his money on

Farewell ye dungeons, dark & strong This wretches destiny MacPherson's day will nae be long Allow the gallows tree Say rauntingly, say wantonly And

Now get the torches burnin' 'Cos the season is returnin' We'll breathe the air of a thousand years In the fog and the moon and the wind and the rain

Well, the summer time is comin' And the trees are sweetly bloomin' And the wild mountain thyme Grows around the bloomin' heather Will ye go, lassy, go

Thistle Boy, commin' up down the Highlands way Got a purple hairdoo got a bottle of whisky yeah Jumpin' up & down then rollin' all around Aee He said

Scots wha' ha'e, Scots wha' ha'e Hear the voice of Scotland, Scots wha' ha'e Scots wha' ha'e, Scots wha' ha'e Screamin' from the Highlands, Scots wha