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[In old Scot]Aye an' a bit of Mackeral fiddler rack and fearRan it doon by the haim, 'ma placeWell I slapped me and I slapped it doon in the shiedAnd I cried, cried, cried.The fear a fallen down taken never back the raize and then cried Mary,Get out wi' ye Claymore out mi pocket a' ran doon, doon the mechyn styPicking the fiery hore that was fallen around ma feet.Never, I cried, never shall it ye get me aliveYe rotten hound of the Burnie Brae.Well I snatched fer the blade O my ClaymoreCut and thrust and I fell doon before him round his feet.Aye! A roar he cried frae the bottom of his heartThat I would nay fall but dead, dead as a can by a feat deahAnd the wind cried Mary.[In English]Thank you.
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