Scotland owns me

[Scotland owns me, heart and head and hand

Scotland owns me, and I own no other land

I've got nae wish to die for Scotland

For that would nae gain a thing

But for every waking hour I'll live to see her free again

Freedom from what asks the quisling

Our English Lords are kind, aye

But while Scotland's laws are English made, I'll ken nae piece of mind

The quisling cries aloud again

See poverty is dead, there's hostels for the sick

And the poor, and old, aye all are fed

Dinna bite the hand that feeds you; pal, my faither always said

There's dole queue's for the living and death grants for the dead

Aye, if a man can find nae work, the dole m'aye provide

But can a man still be a man, if he's lost his pride

This land of was surely pockled for the ancient Celtic tribe

While mony a Scottish, Judas hand received a Saxon bribe

A land of heroes once we were, micht be again nae doubt

But quisling traitors, dank and foul, must still be weeded out

When Robert Bruce had claimed the throne and independence rocked

He wasn't King of Scotland, but created King of Scots

And so this land of Scotland cannot be owned by man

But borrowed by our ain folk, for length of one life span

Aye, Scotland owns me, heart and hand and head

And the sovereign soil of Scotland can claim me when I'm dead]