'Twas by a farmer's cottage Lord Brocket walked one day, When he saw a sight that troubled him 'Twas more than he could say, For the "Seven Men of Knoydart" Were doing what they'd planned-- They had staked their claims they were digging their drains, On Brocket's private land.
“You bloody Reds,” Lord Brocket cried, "What's this you're doing here? You'll rue the day, it doesn't pay To insult an English peer. You're only Scottish half-wits, And I'll have you understand. You Highland swine, these hills are mine! Get off Lord Brocket's land.
Then up spoke the Men of Knoydart; “Away and shut your trap. For threats from a Saxon brewer boy, We do not give a rap. For we are all ex-servicement Who fought against the Huns. We can tell our enemies by now, And Brocket, you are one!”
“You're a crowd of Tartan Bolshies! And I'll soon have you fixed. I'll write to the me London lawyer For an Interim Interdict. I'll write to my London lawyers, And I'll make you understand.” “To Hell with your London lawyer, chum, We want our Scottish Land.”Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
