They maun be clever, for ye ken
There’s nought tae tell the chiefs, man:
I’m jist like a’ the ither men
That hail frae Galashiels, man.
But oh! I’m fain tae see again
The bonny hills an’ heather!
Twa days, and ne’er a drap o’ rain—
Sic awfu, drouthy weather!
But eh! I doubt the Gala boys
Will laugh when hame I gang, man,