"Come gie's a sang", thae asked the poet
Owre the water, cross the muir
"Tell our joys an tell our woes"
The linnet sings sae bonnie-o

The poet waved his pen aloft
"My art's too great for the common trough"

"What fame is there for one like me
Reciting poor folks' history?"

"There's precious little wealth or glory
In telling common peoples' story"

The people turned untae thair ain
Tae sing thair passion an thair pain

"Come gie's a sang", they asked the makar
"Tell our story wi your craft"

The makar traivelled through the land
Pentlan Firth tae Solway strand

Through the Lawlans an the Hielans
Frae the Border tae the Northern Isles

He's gaen frae Stornoway tae Brechin
Listenin tae the people speak

He listened as the day wis dawin
Eagle's cry an houdie's caw

He heard the roar o ragin seas
Branches whisperin in the breeze

He heard the weepin widow mournin
The crack o broadsword cleavin bone

Heard the shipyard haimmer ringin
The lilt o playin children sing

The wind it blew frae aa the airts
Bringin tunes frae ither pairts

He's taken every sound he heard
Crafted thaim tae makar's words

The poet's work lies in a book
Whaur naebody but scholars look

But still the makar's sang is sung
His words are pairt o everyone