It's fine when ye stand in a queue
at the door o' the ‘Dole'
on a snawy day,
To ken that ye leive in the bonniest
land in the world,
The bravest, tae.

It's fine when you're in a pickle
Whether or no'
you'll get your ‘dough',
To Sing a wee bit sang
o' the heather hills,
And the glens below.

It's fine when the clerk says,
'Nae ‘dole' here for you!'
To proodly turn,
and think o' the bluidy slashin'
the English got
at Bannockburn.