I should really have a little humility and leaves this for those who know, but I'm going to try it for fun. I've marked the words I'm least sure about with question marks, but that doesn't mean I'm absolutely sure of the rest.

First here's a better if still less comprehensible text, from Dick Gaughan's archives. My translation follows.

FREEDOM COME AA YE

( Words : Hamish Henderson Music : 'The Bloody Fields of Flanders' )

Roch the win i the clear day's dawin
Blaws the clouds heilster-gowdie owre the bay
But there's mair nor a roch win blawin
Thro the Great Glen o the warl the day
It's a thocht that wad gar our roddans
Aa thae rogues that gang gallus fresh an gay
Tak the road an seek ither loanins
Wi thair ill-ploys tae sport an play

Nae mair will our bonnie callants
Merch tae war whan our braggarts crousely craw
Nor wee weans frae pitheid an clachan
Murn the ships sailin doun the Broomielaw
Broken faimilies in lans we've hairriet
Will curse 'Scotlan the Brave' nae mair, nae mair
Black an white ane-til-ither mairriet
Mak the vile barracks o thair maisters bare

Sae come aa ye at hame wi freedom
Never heed whit the houdies croak for Doom
In yer hous aa the bairns o Aidam
Will fin breid, barley-bree an paintit room
Whan MacLean meets wi's friens in Springburn
Aa thae roses an geeans will turn tae blume
An a black laud frae yont Nyanga
Dings the fell gallows o the burghers doun.

©Hamish Henderson

FREEDOM COME-ALL-YE

Roughly the wind in the clear day's dawning
Blows the clouds (helter-skelter?) over the bay
But there's more than a rough wind blowing.
Through the great valley of the world today.
It's a thought that will make our (rotten ones?),
All those rogues that go (?) fresh and gay,
Take the road, and seek other (places?).
For their evil ploys, to have fun and play.

No more will the handsome (young men?)
March to war when our braggarts (?) crow,
Nor little kids from the pithead and (?)
Mourn the ships sailing down the Broomielaw.
Broken families in lands we've harried [= ravaged]
Will curse Scotland the Brave no more, no more;
Black [that's a typo] and white, to each other married,
Make the vile barracks of their masters bare [i.e., the slaves are deserting their masters?].

So come all you [who are?] at home with Freedom,
Never heed what the (crows?) croak for doom.
In your house all the children of Adam
Can find bread, barley-broth and (pleasant?) room.
When Maclean meets with his friends in Springburn,
All the roses and (some kind of flower?) will start to bloom,
And a black lad from beyond Nyanga
Knocks the deadly gallows of the (rich people?) down.

(I assume houdies = hooded crows, the gray, black, and white crows of Scotland (and Norway?) rather than the solid black form of most of England. Also, I think "weans" comes from "wee ones", so "wee weans" would be at least etymologically redundant.)