Wha the deil hae we gotten for a King,

But a wee, wee German lairdie,

And when we gaed to bring him hame,

He was delvin in his yairdie.

He was sheughin kail, and laying leeks,

Wi'oot the hose and but the breeks,

An' up wi' his beggar duds he cleeks;

This wee, wee German lairdie.

 

And he's clapt doon in our guidman's chair,

The wee, wee German lairdie;

And he's brought fouth o' foreign trash,

And dibbled them in oor yairdie;

He's pu'd the rose o' English loons,

And broken the harp o' Irish clowns;

But oor thistle taps will jag his thooms -

This wee, wee German lairdie.

 

Come up amang oor Highland hills,

Thou wee, wee German lairdie,

And see how the Stewarts' lang-kail thrive

They dibbled in oor yairdie;

And if a stock ye dare to pu',

Or haud the yokin' o' a plough,

We'll brak your sceptre ower your mou',

Thou wee bit German lairdie.

 

Oor hills are steep, oor glens are deep,

Nae fitting for a yairdie;

And oor Norland thistles winna pu',

Thou wee bit German lairdie;

And we've the trenching blades o' weir,

Wad prune ye o' your German gear -

We'll pass ye 'neath the claymore's sher,

Thou feckless German lairdie.

 

Auld Scotland, thou'rt ower cauld a hole

For nursin' siccan vermin;

But the very dogs o' England's court

They bark and howl in German.

Then keep thy dibble in thy ain hand,

Thy spade but and thy yairdie;

For wha the deil now claims your land

But a wee, wee German lairdie.