Ode to an Argyll ©
S. L. B.
How fare's my bonny wee lad
Far away ower the sea?
How fare's his fine mates?
Of them I think of tae.
'Tis with the Argylls they must stay.
While wives and mothers fondly pray
That they'll come home to them some day
Fit and well and oh! so gay.
To us it seems you're long away
Our hearts grow heavy with each day
Come home soon and make us smile
We'll be alongside you every mile.
Out with the whisky, out with the wine,
Here they come, 'The Thin Red Line'.
With kilts a-swinging, oh! so grand,
The finest soldiers in all the land.