Noo, ye ken, we'll see 'em agen,
Waggling doon the street,
While the baton twirls an' the piper skirls
To the beat of the marching feet.
Left - right - glimmerin' bright,
Buttons and cairngorms shine;
While the pipes give forth 'The Cock o' the North'
Ho! The kilts are in the line!

Far an' faint ye hear the plaint
Comin' adoon the breeze,
Closer it comes, wi' the crackle o' drums
An' the lift o' the naked knees.
Left - right - was ever a sight
Finer by burn or glen?
Wi' the tunes ye know, like the auld 'Keel Row'
Tis the march o' the Cameron men.

Pageantry it ever shall be
An asset in any land.
But the lad who's built to carry a kilt
Losh, mon! But he is grand;
Steppin' along to some auld song
Or a war chant tipped wi' flame.
'Tis the kilt - the kilt! An' the pibroch's lilt
Callin' us - callin' us hame.