Bonnie Dundee

To the Lords of Convention, ‘twas Claverhouse spoke,
E’re the King’s crown goes down,
There are crowns to be broke,
So let each cavalier who loves honour and me,
Come follow the bonnets of bonnie Dundee.

Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,
Come saddle my horses and call out my men,
Unhook the west port and let us gae free,
For it’s up wi’ the bonnets of bonnie Dundee.

Dundee he is mounted and rides up the street,
The bells they ring backwards, the drums they are beat,
But the Provost, douce man, says "e’en let him be.
This toon is well rid o’ tha’ de’il o’ Dundee."

Chorus

There are lands beyond Pentland and lands beyond Forth,
There are Lords in the south, there are chiefs to the north,
Wi’ wild dunniewassals three thousand times three,
Who cry "Hoigh" for the bonnets of bonnie Dundee.

Chorus

And awa’ t’ the hills, t’ the caves, t’ the rocks.
E’er I own the usurper I’ll couch with the fox.
So tremble false Whigs in the midst of your glee.
Y’ha nae seen the last o’ my bonnets an’ me.

Score
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