I will arise and go now, and go to Inverness, And a small villa rent there, of lath and plaster built; Nine bedrooms will I have there, and I'll don my native dress, And walk about in a d -- -- loud kilt.
And I will have some sport there, when grouse come driven slow, Driven from purple hill-tops to where the loaders quail; While midges bite their ankles, and shots are flying low, And the air is full of the grey-hen's tail.
I will arise and go now, for ever, day and night, I hear the taxis bleating and the motor-'buses roar, And over tarred macadam and pavements parched and white I've walked till my feet are sore!
For it's oh, to be in Scotland! now that August's nearly there, Where the capercailzie warble on the mountain's rugged brow; There's pleasure and contentment, there's sport and bracing air, In Scotland -- -- now!
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