Rich Persoff

Oh didn’t we sing proud songs -
Before the soldiers came
And the bailiffs sawed
The roof beams of our poor crofts,
And we huddling in the corners,
No room even to stretch your arms,

And our London-soft lairds selling
The commons to the sheep men,
And we eating the seaweed
We used to burn for ash,
And not a bit of mutton
But was owned by the landlord
And watched by his scab wardens.

Aye, that was a hard and a bitter time,
And no amount of kilts and tartans
Or cabers or Scottish Games
Or pipes or eager tourists
Will blot away the remembering.