[In old Scot]
Aye an' a bit of Mackeral fiddler rack and fear
Ran it doon by the haim, 'ma place
Well I slapped me and I slapped it doon in the shied
And I cried, cried, cried.

The fear a fallen down taken never back the raize and then cried Mary,
Get out wi' ye Claymore out mi pocket a' ran doon, doon the mechyn sty
Picking the fiery hore that was fallen around ma feet.

Never, I cried, never shall it ye get me alive
Ye rotten hound of the Burnie Brae.
Well I snatched fer the blade O my Claymore
Cut and thrust and I fell doon before him round his feet.

Aye! A roar he cried frae the bottom of his heart
That I would nay fall but dead, dead as a can by a feat deah

And the wind cried Mary.

[In English]
Thank you.