Well, boys, here's the best I can do.

Ah, as I got done, my glascots on,
The lad I chance to see.
He wore a feather in his cap,
And tartan on his knee.
A lassie walked there by his side
And as the men did bye,
A lassie looked at everyone
And then I heard her cry.

Oh gie to me the lad you'll see
From Russia to the forks,
The marching lilt the swing of the kilt,
And that's the Cock O' the North.

Now you'll see him down in London Town,
You'll know him by his eyes.
They're proud and free and blue to see,
As any highland skies.

As he swings along he sings a song
That tells you where he's from.
To Scotland's Isles and bens and kyles
He surely must belong.

Say gie to me the lad you'll see
From Russia to the fore,
The marching lilt, the swing of the kilt,
And that's the Cock O' the North.

(slowly)

There's your Irish dan begorrah,
And your English man,
Your dubbie bach from Wales uh
Your Spanish Joe, and your Frenchie beau,
And other kinds of males

The lads they say from USA
are very hard to beat,
And way down under you would wonder

(picks back up)

Of the men you'll meet.



But gie to me the lad you'll see
From Russia to the fore,
The marching lilt, the swing of the kilt,
And that's the Cock O' the North.

Oh the lads who come from Inverness,
From Keffshire or Kintail,
Will meet a lass and soon we'll hear her bonnie helt and file
She'll loo the lad, she'll want him bad
She even join his clan
She tends nae other lad could love her
Like a Highland man.

Say gie to me the lad you'll see
From Russia to the fore,
The marching lilt, the swing of the kilt,
And that's the Cock O' the North.

The handy sandy fine and dandy lad,
The Cock O' the North, hee, the Cock O' the North.