When our ancient forefathers agreed wi’ the laird, For a piece o’ good grun’ to be a kail yard, It was to the brose that they paid their regard; O the kail brose of auld Scotland, An’ O the Scottish kail brose.
When Fergus, the first of our Kings I suppose, At the head of our nobles had vanquish’d our foes, Just before they began they’d been feasting on brose, O! the kail brose of auld Scotland, An’ O the Scottish kail brose.
Our sogers were clade in their kilts and short hose, With their bonnets and belts, which their dress did compose, Wi’ a bag of oat-meal on their backs to be brose; O! the kail brose of auld Scotland, An’ O the Scottish kail brose.
At our annual elections for Bailies or Mayor, No kickshaws of puddings, or tarts were seen there, But a dish of gude brose was the favourite fare, O! the kail brose of auld Scotland, An’ O the Scottish kail brose.
Before that the Thistle was join’d with the Rose, The Englishmen aye were accounted our foes, Let us run said John Bull, they’ve been feasting on brose O! the kail brose of auld Scotland, An’ O the Scottish kail brose.
But now since the Thistle is join’d to the Rose, An’ the English nae langer are counted our foes, We’ve lost a gude dale o’ our relish for brose, O! the kail brose of auld Scotland, An’ O the Scottish kail brose.
Yet each true hearted Scotchman, by nature jocose, Loves always to dine on a dish of gude brose, And thanks be to Praise, we’ve yet plenty of those, O! the kail brose of auld Scotland, An’ O the Scotish kail brose.
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