The hair upon ma head it bristles,
At sic an awfu’ waste o’ power!
’Tis idle wark, as time will show,
To root the bonny plant frae ground;
For Nature still gars thristles grow
Where canny Scots are to be found.
What soil so puir but it can keep
A thristle green amang its stanes?
What land so bare a Scotsman deep
Canna pick something aff its banes?