Those who know poverty In the place they call Dundee Cast their minds Back over the sea To India Long ago from the East Stories of a golden fleece Resolved a few To carve out a piece Of India And now to the children of Angus India’s only a name A sound in the mouth of a stranger A piece in a history game But to some who owe nothing to memory India’s more than a dream She’s the Ayah, the faceless protector Who welcomed the infant scream To India So it goes everywhere Some decide how others fare As true for here As ever was there In India Raised upon banks of Tay Born five thousand miles away How fine the tie That twines us today With India

Slowly, slowly, walk the path And you might never stumble or fall Slowly, slowly, walk the path And you might never fall in love at all Chorus Golden, golden, is her hair Like the morning sun over fields of corn Golden, golden, is her love So sweet and clear and warm Lonely, lonely, is the heart That ne'er another can call its own Lonely, lonely, bides the heart That has to live all alone Wildly, wildly, beats the heart With a rush of love like a mountain stream Wildly, wildly, play your part As free as a wild bird's dream

Rod Paterson: vocal / acoustic guitar Kirsten Easdale: backing vocal Gregor Lowrey: accordion Marc Duff: low whistle Pete Clark: fiddle O Mary, at thy window be! It is the wish'd, the trysted hour. Those smiles and glances let me see, That make the miser's treasure poor. How blythely wad I bide the stoure, A weary slave frae sun to sun, Could I the rich reward secure - The lovely Mary Morison! Yestreen, when to the trembling string The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', To thee my fancy took its wing, I sat but neither heard nor saw: Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, And yon the toast of a' the town, I sigh'd and said amang them a':- ' Ye are na Mary Morison!' O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace Wha for thy sake wad gladly die? Or canst thou break that heart of his Whase only faut is loving thee? If love for love thou wilt na gie, At least be pity to me shown: A thought ungentle canna be The thought o' Mary Morison

Ae merchant’s son, he’s lived in wrang Untae the beggin’ he has gane; He’s louped up upon his steed Far awa wi pleasure he did ride. Noo a beggin wench, he’s chanced tae meet, A beggar wench of low degree. Noo he’s ta’en pity on her distress, Sayin’: “Lassie, but you hae a bonny face.” Noo they’ve inclined tae take a dram Untae a public hoose they’ve cam; They’ve drank strong ale ay and whisky too Till the pair o them got rantin’ roarin’ fu’ Noo they’ve inclined tae go tae bed And neath the covers they soon were lain; But the whisky’s gane straight tae their heids; Till the pair o them jist lay like they were deid. Noo in the mornin’ this lassie rose An’ she’s put on the merchant’s clothes Wi his hat sae high. Wi his sword sae clear An’ she’s awa wi the gadgie’s gear. Noo a wee bit later this merchant rose And lookin’ roon for tae find his clothes There’s nothing left intae the room, But a torn petticoat and a wincey goon. Tae being a stranger untae the toon This merchant’s pit on the coat an’ goon An’ doon the street he strode an’ swore That he never would lie wi a beggar no more

Roch the wind in the clear day’s dawin Blaws the cloods heelster-gowdie ow’r the bay, But there’s mair nor a roch wind blawin Through the great glen o’ the warld the day. It’s a thocht that will gar oor rottans – A’ they rogues that gang gallus, fresh and gay – Tak the road, and seek ither loanins For their ill ploys, tae sport and play Nae mair will the bonnie callants Mairch tae war when oor braggarts crousely craw, Nor wee weans frae pit-heid and clachan Mourn the ships sailin’ doon the Broomielaw. Broken faimlies in lands we’ve herriet, Will curse Scotland the Brave nae mair, nae mair; Black and white, ane til ither mairriet, Mak the vile barracks o’ their maisters bare. So come all ye at hame wi’ Freedom, Never heed whit the hoodies croak for doom. In your hoose a’ the bairns o’ Adam Can find breid, barley-bree and painted room. When MacLean meets wi’s freens in Springburn A’ the roses and geans will turn tae bloom, And a black boy frae yont Nyanga Dings the fell gallows o’ the burghers doon.

I’m jist a craw, a Common Craw I am nae weel respected, My status does nae bother me But whyles I get dejected For wifies chase me an’ weans thraw stanes I’m shunned by yin an’ a’ But I can nae help the way I am I’m jist a Common Craw The Woodpecker an’ Oyster Catcher Hae respected trades An’ Hawks an’ Harriers search and kill In deadly lightnin’ raids But I’m no agile in the air Or clever wi my claw I’m sort o like nature’s scaffy man I’m jist a Common Craw In fine regalia, Peacocks strut Roon stately gates wi pride An’ the flashy suited Magpie He’s jist a conman on the side I’ve nae need for fancy clathes I ken I am nae braw Nae shiney things or stolen rings I’m jist an honest Craw I can nae sing a symphony Like the Laverock in the morn Nor busk like Tits an’ Finches do For monkey nuts an’ corn My voice is like a rusty file Ye’ll hear me ‘Caw, caw, caw’ I can nae dance to save mysel’ I’m jist a thouless Craw Some folk say I herald death That hooded reaper grim But I’m no supernatural I merely follow him I’m like the undertaker An’ I wear the black an’ a’ To mark respect for them that’s deid An ordinary Craw I have nae got an upper hoose Or lower hoose, or chambers There’s nae democracy for me Nor non-elected members I have nae got a say in things I dinnae mak the Law I jist clean up the mess they mak I’m jist a poor auld Craw I bide up in the branches Where I thole the wind an’ rain I’ve had my share o hunger An’ I’ve had my share o pain I feel the chill in Winter When the icy breezes blaw I’m nae without my feelin’s I’m jist a poor auld Craw So when ye see me Spare a thought for me, an’ them like me Who were nae born jist bright enough To chose the wark we do I did nae chose the way I am I drew the shortest straw I’ve jist accepted nature’s lot I’m jist a Common Craw

Chorus Green grow the rashes, O Green grow the rashes, O The sweetest hours that e'er I spend, Are spent among the lasses, O There's nought but care on ev'ry han', In every hour that passes, O What signifies the life o' man, An' 'twere na for the lasses, O The war'ly race may riches chase, An' riches still may fly them, O An' tho' at last they catch them fast, Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O But gie me a cannie hour at e'en, My arms about my dearie, O, An' war'ly cares an' war'ly men May a' gae tapsalteerie, O For you sae douce, ye sneer at this Ye're nought but senseless asses, O The wisest man the warl' e'er saw, He dearly lov'd the lasses, O Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears Her noblest work she classes, O Her prentice han' she try'd on man, An' then she made the lasses, O

'll aye ca' in by yon town, And by yon garden-green again; I'll aye ca' in by yon town, And see my bonie Jean again. There's nane sall ken, there's nane can guess What brings me back the gate again, But she, my fairest faithfu' lass, And stownlins we sall meet again. She'll wander by the aiken tree, When trystin time draws near again; And when her lovely form I see, O haith! she's doubly dear again. Duncan Gray came here to woo, Ha, ha, the wooin o't! On blythe Yule night when we were fou, Ha, ha, the wooin o't! Maggie coost her head fu high, Look'd asklent and unco skeigh, Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh; Ha, ha, the wooin o't! Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd, Ha, ha, the wooin o't! Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, Ha, ha, the wooin o't! Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, Grat his een baith bleer't and blin', Spak o' lowpin owre a linn; Ha, ha, the wooin o't! Time and chance are but a tide, Ha, ha, the wooin o't! Slighted love is sair to bide, Ha, ha, the wooin o't! "Shall I, like a fool," quoth he, "For a haughty hizzie die? She may gae to—France for me!"— Ha, ha, the wooin o't! How it comes let doctors tell, Ha, ha, the wooin o't! Meg grew sick as he grew hale, Ha, ha, the wooin o't! Something in her bosom wrings, For relief a sigh she brings; And O! her een, they spak sic things Ha, ha, the wooin o't! Duncan was a lad o' grace, Ha, ha, the wooin o't! Maggie's was a piteous case, Ha, ha, the wooin o't! Duncan could na be her death, Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath; Now they're crouse and cantie baith; Ha, ha, the wooin o't My love was born in Aberdeen, The boniest lad that e'er was seen; But now he makes our hearts fu' sad - He takes the field wi' his White Cockade. Chorus O, he's a ranting, roving lad! He is a brisk an' a bonie lad! Betide what may, I will be wed, And follow the boy wi' the White Cockade! I'll sell my rock, my reel, my tow, My guid gray mare and hawkit cow, To buy mysel a tartan plaid, To follow the boy wi' the White Cockade

Rod Paterson: vocal There was this king sitting in his gairden all alane When his brother, and his heir poured a tate o' henbane And stole his brother's crown, his money and his widow So the dead king went and got his son and said "Hey listen, kiddo "I've been killed, and it's your duty tae tak revenge on Claudius Kill him quick and clean and tell the nation what a fraud he is" The laddie says " I'll dae it. But I'll need tae play it crafty So as nae bodie will suspect me, I'll kid on that I'm a dafty" So tae a’ except Horatio, cuz he trusts him as a friend Hamlet, that's the boy, kids on he's round the bend Because he was nae ready for obligatory killing He’s even made the king think he wis tuppence aff the shilling Took the mickey oot Polonius, treats poor Ophelia vile Telt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern that Denmark wis a jail Till a troupe of travellin actors, like Seven Eighty-four Arrived tae dae a special one night gig in Elsinore Hamlet! Hamlet! Loved his mammy Hamlet! Hamlet! Acting barmy Hamlet! Hamlet! Hesitatin' Wonders if the ghost's a cheat And that is how he's waitin' Then Hamlet wrote a scene for the players to enact So as Horatio and him could watch to see if Claudius cracked The play was called "The Mousetrap" (no’ the one that's runnin noo) But sure enough, the king walks oot afore the scene wis through So Hamlet's got the proof that Claudius gied his dad the dose The only problem bein’ noo, that Claudius knows he knows And as he tells his Ma that her new husband's no’ a fit one Uncle Claude pits oot a contract wi the English king as hit man Then when Hamlet killed Polonius, to conceal corpus delecti Uncle Claude wis quick tae send him for the English hempen necktie Wi Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to mak sure he got there Wee Hammy jumps the boat and pits the finger on thon pair Meanwhile Leartes heard his da had been stabbed through the arras Cam racin’ back tae Elsinore, toot-sweet, hot foot frae Paris Ophelia, wi her dad killed by the man she wished tae marry Efter saying it w flooers, she’s committed hari-cari Hamlet! Hamlet! Nae messin'! Hamlet! Hamlet! Learnt his lesson! Hamlet! Hamlet! Yorick's crust Convinced him that men, good or bad At last must come to dust Then Leartes lost the place and wis demandin retributions. So the king said "Keep the hied, and I'll provide you a solution" A sword fight wis arranged for the interested perties, A bluntit sword for Hamlet, but a sharp one for Leartes. Tae mak things double sure, the old "belt an’ braces" line, He’s fixed a poison sword tip, and a poison cup of wine. O Hamlet’s got the sword tip but Leartes went and muffed it 'Cause he got stabbed himsel, and he confessed afore he snuffed it Then Hamlet's mother drank the wine, and when her face turned blue Hamlet says "I quite believe the king's a baddie noo "Incestuous, murderous, damned Dane," he cried,to be precise Then made up for hesitatin by killin Claudius twice He stabbed him wi the sword tip, forced the wine atween his lips Then cried "The rest is silence" That wis Hamlet had his chips They fired a volley o’er him that shook the topmost rafter. And Fortinbras, knee-deep in Danes, lived happily ever after Hamlet! Hamlet! A’ the gory Hamlet! Hamlet! End of story Hamlet! Hamlet! I'm away If you think this is borin’ You should read the bloody play

O when my work is done and daylight fades away And the last coach has gone for the day And the sun sinks in the Western sky Makes me think of days when you and I Would wander off alone Along the shingle of Loch Fyne We would take a piece of driftwood from the shore And pretend that it looked like something more More like a wild horse or an aeroplane Come to take us far across the main For even then your dreams were So very far away from mine Chorus My dream was life in Kintyre Your sea was wider Your sky was higher You left me Tarbert Lights And Inverary summer nights They’ll always make me think of you Well, there’s a strange kind of song on the breeze Like a message sent from you across the sea And it’s telling me to look around At all the beauty in the hills and in the town And know that there is nowhere In the World I’d rather be

O Jesus at your altar fit We boo oor knee tae bend An’ there we seek a sauf remede Oor dwinin’ sauls tae mend Your haly biddin gars us come As guests untae a waddin’ boord Tae feed upon your manna Gie us a blisset taste O Lord That we may gie baith Laud and Gloire And sing a loud Hosanna Let pleesure-looin lickrish race Wi heckin’ gar them grue Rin tae the mallin, stow their face An’ stap their waims richt fu Tae ilk excess they are na’ laith But ay the Lord has spread a boord Wi claith for me tae dine An’ wi his boonty I’m mair content Were I the gowd O ilk land sent An’ a’ the hale Warld mine We’ll mind on ye Jesus oor Lord In speirit, heart an’ thocht Sae lang as bread is wrought frae corn An’ grapes frae vines are sought Where e’er the Haly bread does brak Baith young an’ auld shall naethin’ lack They shall the guid Lord’s daith proclaim Till ye appear ‘mang us forever Intae your kinrick etern to gaither For ay tae rax us hame

Rattlin, roarin Willie, He held untae the fair, For to sell his fiddle And buy some other ware; But parting wi' his fiddle, The saut tear blin't his e'e - Rattlin, roarin Willie, Ye're welcome hame to me! O Willie, come sell your fiddle, Come sell your fiddle sae fine! Willie come sell your fiddle And buy a pint o' wine!' If I was to sell my fiddle, The warld would think I was mad; Monie’s the rantin day My fiddle and I hae had.' Rattlin roarin Willie, Whaur hae ye been sae late? I’ve been to see my Peggy. Sae weel as I ken the gate Sae weel as I ken the gate An’ the tirlin o the pin Gang I late or early She’ll rise and let me in. As I cam by Crochallan, I cannily keekit ben, Rattlin, roarin Willie Was sitting at yon boord-en': Sitting at yon boord-en', And amang guid companie! Rattlin, roarin Willie, Ye're welcome hame to me

O the time will come, well the auld man said When the servant slumbers in his master’s bed If he’s no’ ower busy working overtime instead An’ a’ for the birlin’ o the bawbee o’t An’ the hour will ding when a’ the young men cry That the gowd and the tyke has ta’en a thin disguise There wis nae guarantee that whit their masters did was wise-like A’ for the birlin’ o the bawbee o’t Chorus The bawbee o’t the bawbee o’t The birlin o the bawbee o’t It’s no’ for a penny, nor a shillin’, nor a groat But a’ for the birlin’ o the bawbee o’t An’ the day will dawn when all the auld men see That the shape an’ form o ony apple tree Has mair to recommend irsel’ afore the spirits flee An’ nane for the birlin’ o the bawbee o’t

Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December! Ance mair I hail thee wi' sorrow and care; Sad was the parting thou makes me remember- Parting wi' Nancy, oh, ne'er to meet mair! Fond lovers' parting is sweet, painful pleasure, Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour; But the dire feeling, O farewell for ever! Is anguish unmingled, and agony pure! Wild as the winter now tearing the forest, Till the last leaf o' the summer is flown; Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom, Till my last hope and last comfort is gone. Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December, Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care; For sad was the parting thou makes me remember, Parting wi' Nancy, oh, ne'er to meet mair

O Willie brew'd a peck o' maut, And Rob and Allen cam to see; Three blyther hearts, that lee-lang night, Ye wadna found in Christendie. Chorus We are na fou, we're nae that fou, But just a drappie in our ee; The cock may craw, the day may daw And aye we'll taste the barley bree. Here are we met, three merry boys, Three merry boys I trow are we; And mony a night we've merry been, And mony mae we hope to be! It is the moon, I ken her horn, That's blinkin' in the lift sae hie; She shines sae bright to wyle us hame, But, by my sooth, she'll wait a wee! Wha first shall rise to gang awa, A cuckold, coward loun is he! Wha first beside his chair shall fa', He is the King amang us three.