The Ploughers

Giddae up there, Sheila,
There's work to be done,
We'll plough this side
Of the hill and down
By the burn, we'll plough
The wee meadow
'Til the hour of eight
'Tis hen I'll release you
And at the hearth I will eat.

Oh, many are the years
Since you and I first met,
And many more the drills
In fine weather and wet;
But time takes its toll
As the years march on,
Missing youthful vigour
And the old friends who have gone.

So, giddae up there, Sheila,
Keep straight to the line,
To the left of the fairy-tree
Beyond the incline;
An never forget our wide reputation
Of being the best team in this part
Of the nation.