Aye an' a bit of Mackeral settler rack and ruin

[RoboPimp]

ran it doon by the haim, 'ma place

well I slapped me and I slapped it doon in the side

and I cried, cried, cried.

 

The fear a fallen down taken never back the raize and then Craig Marion,

get out wi' ye Claymore out mi pocket a' ran doon, doon the middin stain

picking the fiery horde that was fallen around ma feet.

Never he cried, never shall it ye get me alive

ye rotten hound of the burnie crew. Well I snatched fer the blade O my

Claymore cut and thrust and I fell doon before him round his feet.

 

Aye! A roar he cried frae the bottom of his heart that I would nay fall

but as dead, dead as 'a can be by his feet; de ya ken?

 

...and the wind cried back.

[dan-o-guitar]

Voice Over: From these glens and scars, the sound of the coot and the moorhen is seldom absent. Nature sits in stern mastery over these rocks and crags. The rush of the mountain stream, the bleat of the sheep, and the broad, clear Highland skies, reflected in turn and 1och ... (at this moment we pick up a highland gentleman in kilt and tam o'shanter clutching a knobkerry in one hand and a letter in the other)... form a breathtaking backdrop against which Ewan McTeagle: writes such poems as 'Lend us a quid till the end of the week'.

McTeagle: (voice over) Oh give to me a shillin' for some fags and I'll pay yet back on Thursday, but if you wait till Saturday I'm expecting a divvy from the Harpenden Building Society... (continues muttering indistinctly)

[RoboPimp]

amen bruddah