It foils their art the words to speak
Or to comprehend it to seek
To appear cultured and chic
All today strive
And a tongue long past its peak
Struggles to survive.
Aye, from a time before today
When men cast not their traditions away
And had little against each other to say
And had not yet the English tongue perfect
They spoke proud in their own way
The Scottish dialect.
Men of every religious hue
And many on both sides of the politics too
To both speak and understand they knew
This tongue, a language proud
Used at kitchen table and kirk pew
Was frowned on in schools... and not allowed...
And now, today, long after their time
Opportunists, see a language past its prime
And as British, the language champion and chime
See not the native roots
That inspired the Weaver Poets to rhyme
These men in sashes and in suits.
And in seeking this tongue to live again
By identifying with just things British then
They drive a wedge between Gael and Scottish men
The language is but a pawn
But we have eyes that see, and when
We surmount this, a new day will Dawn
And this we will treasure as heritage and history
A culture of a people of out country
When Irish and Scot as one will be
Though each his own
And Ireland is United and Free
And true peace on this Island is known!
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