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Luke Kelly: Battle Of The Somme/Freedom Come All Ye

Roch the win i the clear day’s dawin Blaws the clouds heilster-gowdie owre the bay But thair’s mair nor a roch win blawin Thro the Great Glen o the warl the day It’s a thocht that wad gar our rottans Aa thae rogues that gang gallus fresh an gay Tak the road an seek ither loanins Wi thair ill-ploys tae sport an play Nae mair will our bonnie callants Merch tae war whan our braggarts crousely craw Nor wee weans frae pitheid an clachan Murn the ships sailin doun the Broomielaw Broken faimilies in launs we’ve hairriet Will curse ‘Scotlan the Brave’ nae mair, nae mair Black an white ane-til-ither mairriet Mak the vile barracks o thair maisters bare Sae come aa ye at hame wi freedom Never heed whit the houdies croak for Doom In yer hous aa the bairns o Aidam Will fin breid, barley-bree an paintit room Whan maclean meets wi’s friens in Springburn Aa thae roses an geeans will turn tae blume An a black laud frae yont Nyanga Dings the fell gallows o the burghers doun. Translation It’s a rough wind in the clear day’s dawning Blows the clouds head-over-heels across the bay But there’s more than a rough wind blowing Through the Great Glen of the world today It’s a thought that would make our rodents, All those rogues who strut and swagger, Take the road and seek other pastures To carry out their wicked schemes No more will our fine young men March to war at the behest of jingoists and imperialists Nor will young children from mining communities and rural hamlets Mourn the ships sailing …