Still (2013)



  1. The Baron o Brackley
  2. Both Sides The Tweed
  3. Pawky Patterson
  4. Erin Go Bragh
  5. Jock o Hazeldean
  6. Pills of White Mercury
  7. Queen Amang the Heather
  8. Forth Bridge Song
  9. Bonnie Woodhall
  10. MacPherson’s Rant
  11. The Scot’s Lament





The Baron o Brackley
Traditional; arranged Malcolm

Down Deeside came Inverey, whistlin and flyin
And he was at Brackley’s yetts ere the day was dawnin
Crying “Baron o Brackley and all ye within
There are sharp swords at your gates, wid gar your bluid spin.”

“Oh rise up, my Baron, and turn back your kye,
For the lads frae Dunmurray are driving them by.”
“Oh how can I rise up and turn them again,
For where I have one man I’m sure has has ten.”

“If I had a husband, the like I hae nane,
He’d no lie in his bed and watch his kye taen.”
Then up spake the baron, said: “Gie me my gun
I will make an outlaw but I’ll never win home.”

There were with bold Inverey full thirty and three
There was nane wi Brackley, just his brother and he
Twa gallanter Gordons did ne’er the sword draw
But against thee and thirty, wae’s me, what is twa?

Wi swords and wi pistols they did him surround
And they pierced bonny Brackley wi monys a wound
Tae the heid o the Dee, tae the banks of the Spey
Oh the Gordons will mourn him and will ban Inverey.

“Oh cam ye from Brackley’s yetts, and were you by there?
And saw ye his Peggy, a-rivin her hair?”
“Aye I cam by Brackley’s yetts, I was in there,
And I saw his Peggy, she was makin good cheer.”

“She was rantin and dancin, she was singin wi joy,
And swears this same nicht she will feast Inverey,
She laughed wi him, danced wi him, welcomed him in
And kept him till mornin, he who slew her good man.”

There’s grief in the kitchen, there’s mirth in the hall
For the Baron o Brackley lies died and awa.
Then up spake his son, on his own nurse’s knee:
“If I live tae be a man, it’s avenged I’ll be.”

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Both Sides The Tweed
Author: James Hogg; composer: Dick Gaughan; arranged Malcolm

What’s the spring breathing jasmine and rose?
What’s the summer, with all its gay train?
Or the splendour of autumn to those
Who barter their freedom for gain?

Let the love of our land’s sacred rights
To the love of our people succeed
Let friendship and honour unite
And flourish, on both sides the Tweed.

No sweetness the senses can cheer
Which corruption and bribery bind
Nor brightness that gloom can e’er clear
For honour’s the sun of the mind.

Let virtue distinguish the brave
Set riches in lowest degree
Think them poorest who can be a slave
Them richest who dare to be free.

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Pawkie Paiterson’s Auld Grey Yaud
Ballantyne: arranged Malcolm.

yaud: mare; guiden: looking after; clutes: hooves

As I was gaun up Hawick Loan
Yeh Monanday at morn
I heard a puir auld grey meer
Gie mony a heavy groan,
Gie mony a heavy groan, sir,
And this she said to me:
“I’m Pawkie Paiterson’s auld grey yaud,
See how they’re guiden me.”

“The miller o Hawick Mill bred me
And that I du weel ken;
The miller o Hawick Mill fed me,
Wi mony a sort o corn.
But now the case is altered,
And this ye plainly see,
I’m Pawkie Paiterson’s auld grey yaud,
Sei how they’re guiden me.”

“When a’ the rest’s set to the corn
I’m sent oot to the fog;
When a’ the rest’s set to the hay
I’m sent oot to the bog.
It’s I gaed into Hawick Moss,
Twas like tae swally me;
I’m Pawkie Paiterson’s auld grey yaud
See how they’re guiden me.”

“And as for Nellie Harkness
She ryses in the morn,
And cries: ‘Oh God sakes, uncle,
The yaud’s amang the corn.’
He tuik his muckle plew-staff
And cam and swabbled me,
Aw’m Pawkie Paiterson’s auld grey yaud
See how they’re guiden me.”
And Rob Young o’ the Back Raw,
Hei’s of’en shod ma clutes,
Sae I wull leave him ma shank banes
To be a pair of butes.
If he push his legs weel in them,
They’ll come up till his knee –
I’m Pawkie Paiterson’s auld grey yaud
See how they’re guiden me.”

“And as for Peggy Duncan,
She is a bonnie lass,
Saw I wull leave her ma een holes
Tae be a squintin’ glass,
Tae gar her eyn see strechter
For they of’en stand aglei,
I’m Pawkie Paiterson’s auld grey yaud
See how they’re guiden me.”

“As for the minister o’ Wilton,
His coat it is worn thin,
And for to keep him frae the cauld,
I’ll leave him ma auld skin,
Wi hide and hair, to keep him warm
As lang as it’s dune me,
I’m Pawkie Paiterson’s auld grey yaud
See how they’re guiden me.”

“And as for Stonie Stewart,
He’s of’en scarce o’ stanes,
And for to mend his auld fail dykes
I’ll leave him my auld banes;
And a’ the callants o’ Hawick Loan
Wull make banefires o’ me,
I’m Pawkie Paiterson’s auld grey yaud
Sae that’s the end o me.”

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Erin Go Bragh
Trad; arranged Malcolm

Erin Go Bragh: Ireland forever; Auld Reekie: Edinburgh

My name’s Duncan Campbell fae the Shire o Argyll
I’ve traivelt this country for mony’s the mile
I’ve traivelt through Ireland, Scotland and a’
And the name I go under’s bold Erin go Bragh.

Last year in Auld Reekie, I walked doon the street
A saucy big polis I chanced for tae meet
He glowert in ma face and he gave me some jaw
Sayin:’ “When cam ye owre, bold Erin go Bragh?”

Well, I’m no’ a Pat though in Ireland I’ve been
Nor am I a Paddy, though Ireland I’ve seen
But were I Paddy, that’s nothin at aa
For there’s mony’s a bold hero from Erin go Bragh.

“Well I know you’re a Pat by the cut o yer hair
But ye a’ turn tae Scotsmen as soon as ye’re here
Ye left yer ain country for brakin’ the law
An’ we’re seizin’ old stragglers from Erin go Bragh.”

“An were I a Pat an ye knew it were true
Or were I the Devil, then whit’s that tae you?
Were it no’ for the stick that ye haud in yer paw
I’d show ye a game played in Erin go Bragh.

An a lump o blackthorn that I held in my fist
Aroun his big body I made it tae twist
An the blude fae his napper I quickly did draw
An paid him stock an interest for Erin go Bragh.

Bit the people cam roun like a flock o wild geese
Sayin: “Catch that daft rascal, he’s killt the police.”
An for every friend I had, I swear he had twa
It was terrible hard times for Erin go Bragh.

Bit I cam tae a wee boat that sails in the Forth
An I packed up ma gear and I sailed for the North
“Farewell tae Auld Reekie, yer polis an a’
And the Devil gang wi ye,” says Erin go Bragh.

Sae come a’ ye young people, whairever ye’re from
An don’t give a damn for the place ye belong
I come frae Argyll in the Heilans sae braw
But I ne’er took it ill bein’ caad Erin go Bragh.

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Jock o Hazeldean
Sir Walter Scott; arranged Malcolm

Why weep ye by the tide, lady?
Why weep ye by the tide?
I’ll wed ye tae my youngest son, an’ ye shall be his bride
An ye shall be his bride, lady, sae comely tae be seen,
But aye she lout the tears dounfa’ for Jock o Hazeldean.

Now let this willful grief be done, and dry those cheeks sae pale
Young Frank is chief of Erthington and Laird o Langleydale
His step is first in peacefu’ hall, his sword in battle keen,
But aye she lout the tears dounfa’ for Jock o Hazeldean.

A coat o’ gowd ye shallna lack, nor comb tae bind your hair
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, nor palfrey fresh and fair
And ye, the foremost o’ them a’, shall ride our forest queen
But aye she lout the tears dounfa’ for Jock o Hazeldean.

The kirk was deck’t at mornin’tide, the tapers glimmered fair,
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, and dame and knight were there
They searched for her by bower and ha’, the lady wisnae seen
She’s ower the border, and awa, wi’ Jock o Hazeldean.

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Pills of White Mercury
Trad; arranged Malcolm

As I was a-walking by the banks of the Ugie
Come my dear friends and a story I’ll relate
I spied a dear comrade, all dressed in white flannel
Dressed in white flannel and cruel was his fate.

The mercury was beating, the limestone was reeking
His tongue all inflamed hung over his chin
A hole in his bosom, his teeth were a-closin’
Bad luck to the girl that had gi’ed him the phlegm.

And had she but told me, oh when she dishonoured me
Had she but told me about it in time
I might have been cured by those pills of white mercury
Now I’m a young man cut down in my prime.

My parents they warned me and oftimes they chided me
“With those young flash girls, do not sport and play”
But I never listened, no I never heeded,
I just carried on in my own wicked way.

It’s down on the corner two flash girls were talking
One to the other did whisper and say:
“There goes that young man who once was so jolly
But now for his sins his own body must pay.”


Oh doctor, dear doctor, before your departure,
Take all these bottles of mercury away
And send for the minister to say a prayer over me
So they can put my poor body in clay.

Now get you six fellows to carry my coffin
Six pretty fair maids to bear up my pall
And give each of them there a bunch of red roses
So when they pass by me they’ll not know the smell.


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Queen Amang the Heather
Trad; arranged Malcolm

yowes: ewes (sheep)

As I roved out one fine summer’s morn
‘Mang lofty hills, moorlands and mountains
Wha should I spy but a fair young maid
As I wi’ others was out a-hunting

No shoes or stockings did she wear
And neither had she cap nor feather
But her golden hair hung in ringlets fair
The gentle breeze blew round her shoulders

I said: “Braw lass, gin ye’ll be mine
And care tae lie in a bed o feather
In silks and satins you shall shine
Ye’ll be my queen amang the heather.”

She said: “Kind sir, your offer’s fine
But I’m afraid ‘twas meant for laughter
For I see you are some rich squire’s son
And I am but a poor shepherd’s daughter.”

“But had ye been a shepherd’s loon
Herding yowes in yonder valley
Or had ye been the plooman’s son
Wi’ aa my heart I could hae loo’ed ye.”

I’ve been tae balls, I’ve been tae halls
I’ve been tae London and Balquidder
But the bonniest lass that e’er I saw
Was herding yowes amang the heather.

So we baith sat doon upon the plain
We sat awhile and we talked thegither
And we left the yowes tae stray their lain,
Till I wooed my queen amang the heather.

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Forth Bridge Song
Malcolm MCPS/PRS

Railway mania, seeping north
East coast skirts around the Tay and the Forth
West is winning, winning Victorianna.

Tom Bouche claimed the Tay, tackled the Forth
Tay blew back at him, broke the back of him
Safety first, Forth fell to Fowler and Baker.

They knew their design
Would have to stand the test of time.
For as long as the cold wind blows,
And high seas ooze in, and loosen their hold
Scarlet arms of steel, Shouldering the rolling wheels
On the beautiful Firth of Forth.

People on the move, Burn up less fuel
Pulled along on wheels, Running over steels
Rolling on a wire, Out into the breeze
Scissoring the Trinity, Of the railways’ masterpiece.

But they built another bridge
For automobiles
Now the Co2
Is flooding in the fields
We can’t carry on
Just burning all this gasoline
Let’s lend a hand, to the railways
‘Cause they’re evergreen.
Daddy’s riches burning baby’s bridges
You can’t buy time
At the end of the line.

We know their design
Has stood to stand the test of time
For as long as the cold winds blow,
And high seas ooze in, and loosen their hold
Scarlet arms of steel, Shouldering the rolling wheels
On the beautiful Firth of Forth.

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Bonnie Woodhall
Traditional: arranged Malcolm

Down by yon green bushes near Calder’s clear stream
Where me and my Annie so often have been
When the hours flew past us, right happy were we
It was little she thought that a soldier I’d be.

But it’s farewell to Annie, and I must away
For the King he needs soldiers and I must obey.
But if providence proves kind, love, until I return
I will wed with my Annie near Calder’s clear burn.

On the 14th of August our regiment was lost
And a ball from the enemy our lines came across
It struck me in the temple and the blood trickled down
I reeled and I staggered and I fell to the ground.

“Come here,” says our captain, “Come here with good speed
For I fear by this bullet young Dinsmore lies dead.”
Two men with a stretcher did quickly prepare
And they carried me away to a hospital there.

Cold water and brandy they poured out so free
They turned me all over my wounds for to see
But if I had my Annie to bind up my wounds
One kiss from her sweet lips would soon deaden the stoun.

And it’s when I am weary and think of lang syne
When I was a miner and wrought in the mine
O, the tears they do trickle, and down they do fall
Like the roses that bloom around bonny Woodhall.

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MacPherson’s Rant
Traditional: arranged Malcolm

Fareweel ye dungeons dark and strang,
Fareweel, fareweel tae ye
MacPherson’s rant will no be long
Upon the gallow’s tree.

Chorus: Sae rantingly, sae wantonly
Sae dauntingly gaed he
He played a tune and he danced it roun’
Ablow the gallows tree.

Twas by a woman’s treacherous hand
That I was condemned tae die
Beneath a ledge at a window she stood
And a blanket she threw o’er me.

The Laird o Grant, that Hieland sant
That first laid hands on me
He played the cause on Peter Broon
Tae let MacPherson free.

Untie these bands frae off my hands
And gie tae me my sword
There’s no a man in all Scotland
But I’ll brave him at his word.

There’s some come here tae see me hanged
And some tae buy my fiddle
But afore that I do part wi’ her
I’ll brak her through the middle.

He took the fiddle in both his hands
And he broke it o’er a stane
There’s no anither man shall play on her
When I am deid and gane.

O little did my mammy think
When first she cradled me
That I would turn a rovin’ boy
And die on the gallows tree.

The reprieve was comin o’er the brig o Banff
Tae set MacPherson free
But they set the clock a quarter afore
And they hanged him frae the tree.

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The Scot’s Lament
Author: Kennedy; composer: Gordon Millar; arranger Malcolm

I’m a Scot and I’m married, two things I can’t help
I’m married…but I have no wife
For she bolted and left me, but that’s nothing new
It happens sae often in life.

So I journeyed to London, for that’s where she’d gone
With her lover to hide her disgrace
And though London’s a big town I swore I’d not rest
Till I’d searched every street in the place.

And I tramped…how I tramped…weary mile upon mile
Till exhausted and ready to drop
I would not give in, so I climbed on a bus,
And took a front seat on the top.

We came to a halt in a brightly lit square
To my joy, there my lassie I spied
Looking weary and worn but, thank Heaven, alone
From my heart, “Maggie, Maggie” I cried.

She gasped with delight as I rose from my seat
But a harrowing thought made me wince
I couldna get off…for I’d paid ma fare
And I’ve never caught sight of her since.

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