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Wha the deil hae we gotten for a king,
But a wee wee German lairdie?
And when we gade to bring him hame,
He was delving in his kail-yardie;
Sheughing kail, and laying leeks,
Without the hose, and but the breeks;
And up his beggar duds he cleeks,
The wee wee German lairdie.
And he's clappit down in our gudeman's chair,
The wee wee German lairdie,
And he's brought forth o' foreign trash,
And dibbled them in his yardie.
He's pu'd the rose o' English loons,
And broken the harp o' Irish clowns,
But our Scots thristle will jag his thumbs,
The wee wee German lairdie
Come up amang our Highland hills,
Thou wee wee German lairdie,
And see the Stuart's lang-kail thrive,
They dibbled in our yardie;
And if a stock ye dare to pu',
Or haud the yoking o' a plough,
We'll break your sceptre o'er your mou',
Thou wee bit German lairdie!
Our hills are steep, our glens are deep,
Nae fitting for a yardie;
And our norland thristles winna pu',
For a a wee bit German lairdie;
And we've the trenching blades o' weir,
Wad glib ye o' your German gear,
And pass ye 'neath the claymore's sheer,
Thou feckless German lairdie!
Auld Scotland, thou'rt o'er cauld a hole
For nursing siccan vermin;
But the very dogs o' England's court,
They bark and howl in German.
Then keep thy dibble i' they ain hand,
Thy spade but and they yardie;
For wha the deil now claims your land,
But a wee wee German lairdie?

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