Clan MacColin, stop your drinking,|
Can't you smell their peasants stinking?
See their warriors, bravely slinking
From this battlefield!
Clan MacColin, stand ye steady,
Fix your pike points at the ready!
Never fear, they'll all soon dead be,
Carried off the field.
O're the hills rebounding,
"An Darach Mor!" resounding!
Spanish, English, French, and Welsh
Do fear us most when "Drinking Call" is sounding!
Clan MacColin, drink it all in,
Never leave a pub without your fallen!
Uisge-beath' now fills the hall, an' ...
Soon ye'll feel nae pain!