That whiles was Scotland’s glory,
An’ dinna rave o’ Bruce the brave
An’ Bannockburn sae gory;
But greet yer lane an’ mak’ yer maen
That ye are ca’d a Scoatsman—
There’s naught but scorn for him that’s born
’Twixt Tweed an’ John-o’-Groat’s, man.
Nae poo’er hae we a joke tae see—
Ye ken the auld, auld rumour;
We canna taste the flavour chaste