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Well, they came to the mountains with their guns and fire
With their monies and their armies and their sheep
And we left our homes in the middle of the night

And a proud nation died in it's sleep

Way up high, where the flames can touch the sky
Upon the lochs, and the names of the slain
The bitter Scots Thistle will bloom again
The bitter Scots will bloom again . . .

Then we marched to Tennessee, to another ancient land
And heard the cries, and sighs in the trees
But Scotland still calls to her faithful sons
And tells the blind what she still sees

Way up high, where the flames can touch the sky
Upon the lochs, and the names of the slain
The bitter Scots Thistle will bloom again
The bitter Scots will bloom again . . .

Well, it's too little too late, for the far and distant homes
But all the scars and stars will not fade
And the memories still burn in our hearts
Of men again wanting what we've made

Way up high, where the flames can touch the sky
Upon the lochs, and the names of the slain
The bitter Scots Thistle will bloom again
The bitter Scots will bloom again . . .

The devil take your fire—we will not turn away
I will not be pushed again, upon these rocks I'll die or—

Way up high, where the flames can touch the sky
Upon the lochs, and the names of the slain
The bitter Scots Thistle will bloom again
The bitter Scots will bloom again . . .

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