Tune, Push about the jorum

Does haughty Gaul invasion threat,
 Then let the louns bewaure, Sir,
There 's Wooden Walls upon our seas,
 And Volunteers on shore, Sir:
The Nith shall run to Corsincon,
 And Criffell sink in Solway,
E'er we permit a Foreign Foe
 On British ground to rally.

O, let us not, like snarling tykes,
 In wrangling be divided,
Till, slap! come in an unco loun,
 And wi' a rung decide it!
Be Britain still to Britain true,
 Amang oursels united;
For never but by British hands
 Must British wrongs be righted.

The kettle o' the Kirk and State,
 Perhaps a clout may fail in 't;
But deil a foreign tinkler-loun
 Shall ever ca' a nail in 't:
Our Fathers' Blude the kettle bought,
 And wha wad dare to spoil it,
By Heavens, the sacreligious dog
 Shall fuel be to boil it!

The wretch that would a Tyrant own,
 And the wretch, his true-sworn brother,
Who'd set the Mob above the Throne,
 May they be damn'd together!
Who will not sing, God save the King,
 Shall hang as high 's the steeple;
But while we sing, God save the King,
 We'll ne'er forget The People!
Fal de ral &c.