Noo wha the deil ha'e we gotten for a king,

⁠But a wee, wee German lairdie?

And, when we gaed to bring him hame,

⁠He was delving in his kail-yardie:

Sheughing kail, and laying leeks,

But the hose, and but the breeks;

And up his beggar duds he decks—

⁠This wee, wee German lairdie.

And he's clapt down in our gudeman's chair,

⁠The wee, wee German lairdie;

And he's brought fouth o' foreign leeks,

⁠And dibbled them in his yardie.

He's pu'd the rose o' English loons,

And broken the harp o' Irish clowns;

But our thistle taps will jag his thumbs—

⁠This wee, wee Ginnan lairdie.

Come up amang our Highland hills,

⁠Thou wee, wee German lairdie,

And see the Stuart's lang-kail thrive

⁠They dibbled in our yardie:

And if a stock ye dare to pu',

Or haud the yoking o' a plough,

We'll break your sceptre o'er your mou',

⁠Thou wee bit German lairdie.

Our hills are steep, our glens are deep,

⁠Nae fitting for a yardie;

And our Norland thistles winna pu',

⁠Thou wee bit German lairdie:

And we've the trenching blades o' weir,

Wad prune ye o' your German gear—

We'll pass ye 'neath the claymore's shear,

⁠Thou feckless German lairdie!

Auld Scotland, thou'rt ower caald a hole

⁠For nursin' siecan vermin;

But the very dougs o' England's court

⁠They bark and howl in German.

Then keep thy dibble in thy ain hand,

⁠Thy spade but and thy yardie;

For wha the deil ha'e we gotten for a king,

⁠But a wee, wee German lairdie?