(Trad)
(spoken:)
The unrelenting cruelties of the Duke of Cumberland
spared neither age, sex, nor condition,
and Scotland for a while realized the prophecy of Peden
which foretold that the time was nigh
when our people might ride fifty miles among the hills and valleys,
and no' find a reekin' hoose nor hear a-crowing a cock
Oh I am come to the low country
Ochon ochon ochree
Withoot a penny in my purse
Tae buy a meal to me
At hame I had three score o' yowes
Ochon ochon ochree
Skippin' on yon bonnie knowes
And castin' wool for me
Till Charlie Stuart came at last
Ochon ochon ochree
My Donald's arm was wantin' then
For Scotland, aye, and for me
Their woeful fate, what need I tell
Ochon ochon ochree
My Donald and his country fell
Upon Culloden field
(as sung by The Corries)