11 Nov 10 - 11:50 AM (#3029412)
Subject: Lyr Add: DRUMDELGIE NAE MAIR (Middleton/Murison...
From: Drumshanty
DRUMDELGIE NAE MAIR (words: Ian Middleton; tune Geordie Murison/Steve Inglis)
There's a fairmtoon up in Cyarnie, weel kent in bothy sang
A place that's famed the country ower, nae matter far ye gang
The fairmer o' yon muckle toon retired t tak his ease
And there's half o't noo in set aside, the ither half's in trees
There's nae a fee'd man t be seen, the parks are bare o' nowt
The grun's a' cryin' oot for crap, wi naebody there tae grou't
The logic or the reason for't is hard t unnerstan
Bit the waste wid gar a body greet that's thirled tae the land
Foo money men, in days lang syne, wi dour unbendin will
Hid dargit at it, months on eyne, t rive it fae the hill?
An kyaaved t shift the thraan tree stumps, and eyneless cyarns o steen
Wi miles o man-made drains t lay afore the job wis deen
Nae modern-day machinery then, t ease the waichty birn
Nor yet a sympathetic lug for ony greet or girn
Twis tire, and jist fa tee again, wi mony's a sypin sark
An men, groun aul afore their time, sair rackit wi the wark
Come time, the place began t thrive, wi aye mair hill teen in
An seen progressed t sic a size, it left the rest ahin
An fin they a were yokit, aye, an deckit oot wi pride
The show o horse wis foremaist in the hale o Diveronside
Drumdelgie's praise, in bothy lays, is gey ill-fittin noo
Wi a its grun, sae sairly won, forsaken b the ploo
The wark his been a waste o time, the foresicht a in vain
As the reets o yon fast-growin trees gyang doon throu ivery drain
Far eence sae mony acres steed, a stookit, ra on ra
The dockins an the tansies thrive, t mark its sad doonfa
It's ayont a comprehension, foo they justify a scheme
Far sae muckle lan lies idle, wi sae mony bellies teem
Gyang oot some day, roon Cyarnie way, an cast yer ee aroon
The legalised distruction o Strathbogie's biggest toon
An maybe, in the silence, as ye contemplate the soss
Ye'll hear the soon o ghostly feet gyan clatterin through the closs
Syne, bid "fareweel Drumdelgie" as ye turn t come awa
Aye "fare-ye-weel Drumdelgie, an yer unca kirn an a"
Ye've been immortalised in sang, since days o horse an cairt
An t see yer sad decline the day, wid braak a body's hairt!
(Makes me weep every time Geordie Murison sings it...)
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