Kilts, Ye Ken

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.