It
was down by the farm of Scottass Lord Brocket walked one day
When he saw a sight that troubled him far more than he could say
For the seven men of Noidart were doing what they'd planned
They'd staked their claims they were
digging drains on Brocket's private land
You bloody reds,
Lord Brocket yelled,
what's this you're doing here?
It doesn't pay as you'll find today to insult an English peer
You're only Scottish halfwits but I'll have you understand
You highland swine,
these hills are mine,
this is all Lord Brocket's land
Then up spoke the men of Noidart,
way and shut your trap
Fought the Rats from a Saxon brewer's boy,
we just don't give a rat Now we are all ex-servicemen who fought
against the Hun We can tell our enemies by now and Brocket you are one
When
the noble Lord he heard these words he turned purple in the face
He said these Scottish savages are Britain's black disgrace
I know it's true I've let some few thousand acres go to pot
But each one I give to a London spiv before any bloody Scot
You're a crowd of tartan balshees but I'll soon have you licked
I'll write to the Court of Session for an interim interdict
I'll write to my London lawyer and he will understand
* to hell with your London lawyer,
we want our Scottish land
Then up spoke the men of Noidart,
you have no earthly right
For this is the land of Scotland and no the Isle of Wight When
Scotland's proud Fianna with ten thousand lads is man We'll
show the world that highlanders have a right to Scottish land