Away back in time many centuries ago,
In the land that I live and know best,
Things were not quite so easy,
You struggled and life was a test,
A man would do all he had to,
Survival the name of the game,
Be it cheat, steal or murder,
Every man's rules were the same,
Now, Rob Roy MacGregor's no exception,
Him and his Clan full of men,
Usually dealing in cattle,
They'd take them wherever or when,
They'd move them on for many a day,
Down through the Hills and the Glens,
Bedding down on Sweet Heather,
Shadowed by the great Scottish Bens,
They'd stop off at friendly wee homesteads,
Perhaps have a meal and a dram,
Maybe take up some shelter,
Till the weather was better and calm,
Leave a beast for the poor and the hungry,
For the Winter that's heading their way,
Not as bad as his reputation,
'A fine man MacGregor', they'd say,
Eventually getting to market,
They'd get the best price for their beasts,
Have a few days drinking in Stirling,
With Wenches and having great feasts,
Then back through the Hills,
And the Glens they would go,
Stealing a beast here and there,
Rob Roy MacGregor and his Clan full of men,
When life was survival, not fair.
