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!