Oh To Be a Scot
2 Sep 1997

Fine Highland Dress, bekilted bard
The King of the Highland Games
You know your Burns, the Gaelic too
Your clan and all its names
And when you go your holidays
To Scotland you will roam
To claim your rightful heritage
Your one and only home

You may be born of Ozzie stock,
Canadian, or Yank
But when it comes to heritage
These countries draw a blank
Perhaps your father came away
When you were but a glint
And looks back on his childhood with 
A rosy coloured tint

And so you come to meet your own
Your kinsfolk proud and tall
But they don't wear the tartan plaid
Or play the pipes at all
They seem content to not be proud
Have they gone soft and weak?
Are you alone the heart of Scots
The warrior race you seek?

Well Scots are here and always will
Be fighters, poets and wits
But most of us don't give a damn
For the tourist tartan bits
It is a fact that what you think
Makes Scotland true and dearest
The tartan, Gaelic, glorious clans
Are just there for the tourist

To be a Scot is not a thing
You do, or learn, or buy 
You cannot read and find it out
And now I'll tell you why
To be a Scot is great indeed
A heritage to fear
But the best and only way to be
Is born and bred - right here!