The Ballad of Thomas MacFarlane

Ah ken't him weel, but ah didnae ken fae whaur,
just an auld man paralysed wi' awe in the street,
hugged by a few wha were there tae greet,
an' a few fae back then wha whaur there tae greet
when the Yeomanry hud murdered Baird and Hardie,
an' were sending a' oor finest awa in a British Fleet.

The glimmer in his lonely eyes wis fur us,
a people lang remembed, a lang regretted exile
aye, ah mind Thomas MacFarlane fae the 'twenty
even though forced separation had been a while
ah mind that irrepressible spirit fae the 'Scotsmen
when ah mind that inevitable spirit I still smile.

Everywhaur emptied and cam' oot fur an auld friend,
Condorrat, Airdrie, Stirling, worker, farmer, weaver,
we would talk aboot when the radical cam merchin' hame
whaur he telt about the English laming him fur his labour
an' bein' cramped in a stinkin' ship tae get there
But nae joy could be extinguished, and would thunder

Thomas said he would fecht like Muir till his last hour
a friend of the people, united an' proud
and wid accept nae quarter fae the rest ae us
because soon the day would come, and when
we, who survived Thomas would have to stand and
mak a' liberty minded Scots a free republic then.