As a child I was raised on salted oats

And tales of the savage past

I learned to love the drifting rain

And winter's icy blast

And all day long on the Holy Isle

Far out in Lamlash Bay

I walked the hills in creaking shoes

Where the bones of the old ones lay

And at night the head of Wallace bled

On solemn floral drapes

And the flower of Scotland bloomed again

Among Proddy dogs and Papes



I was taught in school how Britannia's rule

Was forced on the Scots of old

Bought and sold by a parcel of rogues

For a handful of English gold

Till our fate was sealed on Culloden field

When the blood of the clans ran down

Through the twisted sea of history

To the streets of Glasgow town

Where at night the head…



On the long summer nights when the northern lights

Burned the sky like acetylene

The prods and tykes they fought on the dykes

That ran round the housing scheme

With sticks and stones we broke our bones

For the sake of the good old cause

That has kept our country bound and chained

Under English laws

But at night the head…



And the old men lilt how the blood was spilt

On the banks of the river Boyne

Three hundred years of hate and fear

Clutched like a miser's coin

And at Ibrox and at Parkhead too

On the first day of the year

See full-grown men drag it all out again

While the fans on the terraces cheer

And at night the head…