"Malcolm has one of those pure, warm folk voices (two parts Archie Fisher,one part Dick Gaughan) that one never tires of listening to."-- Dirty Linen.................... "One of the finest singing voices in Scotland in any style." -- The Living Tradition ................

Home - Lyrics
Fields of Angus (6:04) (Jim Malcolm MCPS PRS)
Of all the mills that fill Dundee
There's no' a loom could harness me
The mill keeps clacking it's rare that it stills
But I'll soon be traipsing through the Sidlaw Hills

Come leave these dark mills and tramp wi me
Through the fields of Angus and roon by the Tay
We'll seek good loanins and work when we're keen
And we'll while summer evening fishing pearls frae the stream

Of all the birds that fill the sky
The cheerful lark is the hardest to spy
But the mill keeps clacking, I'm choked wi the stoor
And I wish that we were camped by Kirriemuir

Of all the fish that fill the stream
The lonely heron taks the cream
But the mill keeps clackin, I'm deaf wi the din
And I wish that we were oot by Reekie Linn

Of all the months that fill the year
The cruel November fills my fear,
But the mill keeps clackin and winter's aroun'
And we'll hae to find a job in Dundee toon.

Ploughman Laddies (Traditional)

Doon yonder den there's a ploughman lad
One summer's day he'll be aa my ain

Chorus:
And sing laddie aye, and sing laddie oh
The ploughman laddies are aa the go.

I love his teeth and I love his skin
I love the very cart he hurles in

Doon yonder den I could've gotten a miller

But the smell o dust would have daen me ill

Doon yonder den I could've gotten a merchant
But aa his goods werena worth a groat

I see him comin through the toon
Wi aa his ribbons hinging roon and roon

And noo she's gotten her plooman lad
As bare as ever he left the ploo.

Sir Patrick Spens (Lyric trad; melody, arrangement Jim Malcolm MCPS PRS)

THE king sits in Dunfermline town
Drinking the blude-red wine;
"Whare will I find a skeely skipper
To sail this new ship o mine?"

And up and spak the eldest knicht
From where he sat by the king's richt knee;
"Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
That ever sail'd the sea."

The king has written a braid letter
And seal'd it with his hand
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens
Who was walking on the strand.

The first word that Sir Patrick read
So loud, loud laugh did he;
The neist word that Sir Patrick read
The tears blinded his e'e.

"To Noroway, to Noroway
To Noroway o'er the faem
The king's daughter o Noroway
it's you must bring her hame."

"O wha is this has done this deed
And tauld the king o' me
To send us out, this time of year
To sail upon the sea?"

"Be it wind, weet, hail, or sleet
Our ship must sail the faem;
The king's daughter o Noroway
'Tis we must bring her hame."

They hoysed their sails on Monday morn
Wi' a' the speed they may;
They hae landed in Noroway
Upon a Wodensday.

They had not been in Noroway
a week but barely three
When all the lords o Noroway
Got up and spak so free:

"The outland Scots waste our King's gold
And swallow our Queen's fee"
Oh weary for the tongue that speaks
Such a mortal lie

"Mak ready all my merry men
our gude ship sails the morn."
"Alas alack, my master dear,
for I fear a deadly storm."

"I saw the new moon late yestreen
Wi' the auld moon in her arm;
And if we gang to sea the morn
I fear we'll come to harm."

They hadna sail'd a league, a league
A league but barely three
The darkness grew the wind blew loud
And gurly grew the sea.

The ankers brak, the topmast lap
And it was sic a deadly storm:
The waves cam owre the broken ship
Till a' her sides were sorely torn.

O laith o laith, were our Scots lords
To wet their cork-heel'd shoon;
But lang afore the play was play'd
They wat their hats aboon.

And mony was the feather bed
That flatter'd on the faem;
And mony was the gude lord's son
That never mair cam hame.

O lang, lang may the ladies sit
Wi' their fans into their hand
Before they see Sir Patrick Spens
Come sailing to the strand.

Half-owre, to Aberdour
Tis fifty fathoms deep;
And there lies Sir Patrick Spens
Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.

The Lea-Rig (Robert Burns; arrangement Jim Malcolm MCPS PRS)

When o'er the hill the eastern star
Tells bughtin time is here, my jo,
And owsen frae the furrow'd field
Return sae dowf and weary, O
Down by the burn, where scented birks
Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo,
I'll meet thee on the lea-rig
My ain kind dearie, o

At midnight hour in mirkest glen
I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie, O
If thro' that glen I gaed to thee
My ain kind dearie, O

Altho the night were ne'er sae wild
And I were ne'er sae weary O
I'll meet thee on the lea-rig
My ain kind dearie, O

The hunter lo'es the morning sun
To rouse the mountain deer, my jo,
At noon the fisher takes the glen
Adown the burn to steer, my jo
Gie me the hour o gloamin grey
It maks my heart sae cheery, O
To meet thee on the lea-rig
My ain kind dearie, O


Hey Donal (Traditional)

As I cam ower Strathmartine Braes
Wha do ye think I seen
But a braw young piping laddie
Come a linkin ower the green
Singing Hey Donal, Ho Donal
Dirrime do a day.

He played a jig and he played a reel
He played a sweet Strathspey
He roosed my heart till its beat took time
Wi the tapping o my tae.

Now I've nae gowd tae offer you
I've gaithered little gear
But we'll hae love and freedom
Gin ye'll go wi me my dear

There's gowd in the broom o the Sidlaw Hills
Honey fae the heather sweet
There's a speckled trout in the hiddlin tarn
A carpet neath wir feet

Syne he's taen up his chanter
And sic a string he played
That I chose love and freedom
Now we wander all wir days.

Simple Little Steps (Song to Myself) (Jim Malcolm MCPS PRS)

If you want your whole life
To be an opera
Then sing, then sing
Try to understand why
You always hurt yourself
You complicate everything
Simple little steps you seem to regret
Take them, maybe they will get you somewhere.

If you want to be free
Shake off your gravity
And fly, just fly
Try to understand why
You're always falling down
You just wouldn't compromise
You're not always right, they're not always wrong
Trust them, maybe they will get you somewhere.

Cause life isn't long
Passing away,
Setting like clay
The things that you want
Are the things you can have
Faith in yourself, faith in yourself
Faith in yourself.

If I'm bringing you down
With all my remedies
Then go
Don't forget that I tried
To help you realise
The dream that's been killing you
I gave you advice that you didn't like
Take it, maybe it will get you somewhere.

Bonny Glenshee

Dae ye see yon high hills
All covered o'er wi snaw
they hae parted monys a true love
and they'll soon part us twa

Busk busk, bonny lassie
Aye and come awa wi' me
And I'll tak ye tae Glen Isla
Near bonny Glenshee

Dae ye see yon shepherds
As they walk along
Wi their plaidies roon aboot them
And their sheep they graze on

Busk busk, bonny lassie
And come awa wi me
And I'll tak ye tae Glen Isla
Near bonny Glenshee

Dae ye see yon sodgers
As they march along
Wi their muskets o'er their shoulders
And their broadswords hanging doon.

 

Coldrochie (Jim Malcolm MCPS PRS)

Coldrochie Coldrochie
Your walls have caved in
And your chimney lies broken
In ivy and whin
Where once was a garden
Now thorns only grow
Coldrochie Coldrochie oh.

Coldrochie Coldrochie
Though poor was your soil
You had fed generations
Til the day you were spoiled
Your sons never owned you
Had nothing to show
Coldrochie Coldrochie oh.

Coldrochie Coldrochie
Where had they all gone?
Did they trail to the lowlands
Where industry shone?
Did they sail for the new world
Great prairies to sow?
Coldrochie Coldrochie oh.

Coldrochie Coldrochie
If I owned your land
I would buy some fine timber
And build you by hand
but like your lost heroes
I'm poor as a crow
Coldrochie Coldrochie oh
Coldrochie Coldrochie oh
Coldrochie Coldrochie oh.

Road to New York (State)

Driving through New England in the fall
English names I've never seen before
Wooden houses glint among the trees
Like white horses on a golden sea.

The freeway gently weaves
Through an endless land of trees
And the Road to New York leads
Through a billion turning leaves.

Houses all decked out for Hallowe'en
It's bigger here than I have ever seen
Pumpkin lanterns draped as blackened ghouls
Like some Christmas time for darker souls.

Soon now every leaf will tumble down
And leave a golden carpet on the ground
But I'll be home by then and this will be
Just a memory to haunt my dreams.

Driving through New England in the fall
English names I've never seen before
Wooden houses glint among the trees
Like white horses on a golden sea.

And the freeway gently weaves
Through an endless land of trees
And the Road to New York leads
Through a billion turning leaves.

Can't Seem to find my way home

Out here in the desert I wouldn't last a day
Hope this hired motor's going to take us all the way
Climbing through the canyon I'm reminded of Glencoe
We spent New Year together there a few short years ago.

Now I can't seem to find my way home
To the love that I never will disown
No I can't seem to find my way home
And my heart it is sinking like a stone.

The road just keeps on rising, the desert turns to plain
But the rivers are still empty and the sun beats down the same
Out on the horizon a jet plane leaves a trail
The trail is growing cold for me, my faith begins to fail.
Out on the horizon a jet plane leaves a trail
The trail is growing cold for me, my faith begins to fail.

Now I can't seem to find my way home
To the love that I never will disown
No I can't seem to find my way home
And my heart it is sinking like a stone.

Up into the mountains and at once among the trees
But they soon remind me of my home and bring me to my knees
Loving you has been easy, you've been so good to me
And I know that if without you I'd be drifting off to sea

Now I can't seem to find my way home
To the love that I never will disown
No I can't seem to find my way home
And my heart it is sinking like a stone.

Freedom Come All Ye (Melody: John McLellan; Lyric Hamish Henderson;
arrangement Jim Malcolm; pub Henderson)

Roch the wind in the clear day's dawnin
Blows the cloods heelster gowdy ow'r the bay
But there's mair nor a roch wind blawin
Through the great glen o the warld the day
It's a thought that will gar oor rottans
A' they rogues that gang gallas fresh and gay
Tak the road and seek ither loanins
For their ill ploys, tae sport and play.

Nae mair will the bonnie callants
Mairch tae war whilst oor braggarts crousely craw
Nor wee wains fae pit heid and clachan
Mourn the ships sailin doon the broomie law

Broken faimlies in lands we've herriet
Will curse Scotland the Brave nae mair, nae mair
Black and white ane til other mairiet
Mak the vile barracks of oor maisters bare.

O come all ye at hame wi Freedom
Never heid what the hoodies croak for doom
In yer hoose a the bairns o Adam
Can find breid, barley bree and painted room.
When Mclean meets wi's friends in Springburn
A' the roses and geens will turn tae bloom
And the black boy fae yont Nyanga
Dings the fell gallows o the burghers doon