Here it is:

THE ROVIN' DIES HARD
(Brian McNeill)

My name's John Mackenzie, I'm a master-at-arms
I've carried my sword and my shield on my shoulder
I've fought every fight from the Don to the Danube
None braver, none better, none bolder
I've stood with Montrose and against him
I've battled with Swedes and with Danes
I've carried the standard of many an army

Through many a bloody campaign
But now as I sit in the firelight it seems
There's a distant horizon to the sword buckle's gleam
Till a pull at the wine brings an old soldier's dreams from afar
For the rovin' dies hard

I'm Calum McLean, I'm a trapper to trade
And it's forty long years since I saw Tobermory
Through Canada's forests I've carried my blade
And the pine trees could tell you my story
And my wandering days now are over
But I'm thankful to still be alive
For there's many a kinsman who died in the hulks
At the end of the bold forty-five
I've an Indian lass and I'll never deceive her
Though there's nights when I'll up with my gun and I'll leave her
For the land where the bear and the fox and the beaver are lord
For the rovin' dies hard

My name's Robert Johnston, I'm a man of the cloth
I'll carry my Bible as long as I'm breathing
I've preached the Lord's Gospel from Shanghai to Glasgow
Where'er He saw fit to make heathen
But now the Kirk's calling me homeward
It's the manse and the elders for me
But the sins of the Session will not be so far
From the sins of the South China Sea
Perhaps it's the voice of the Devil I've heard
It speaks of clipper ships flying like birds
Till a man's only comfort is Scripture and the word of the Lord
For the rovin' dies hard

My name's Willie Campbell, I'm a ship's engineer
I know every berth between Lisbon and Largo
I've sweated more diesel in thirty-five years
Than a big tanker takes for a cargo
The good times were always a plenty
When the whisky and the women were wild
And there's many a bairn wi' the red locks o' the Campbells
Who's ne'er seen the coast of Argyll
But now as the freighters unload on the quay
The sound of their engines is calling to me
And they sing me a song of the sun and the sea and the stars
For the rovin' dies hard

I've tuned up my fiddle, I've rosined my bow
And I've sung of the clans and the clear crystal fountains
I could tell you the road and the miles from Dundee
To the back of Alaska's wild mountains
When my wandering days are over
And the next of the rovers has come
He'll take all the songs, he'll sing them again
To the beat of a different drum
If ever I'm asked why the Scots are beguiled
I'll lift up my glass in a health, and I'll smile
And I'll tell them, Fortune dealt Scotland the wildest of cards
For the rovin' dies hard