The Last o the Clydesdales     (Archie Webster)

O come all ye young ploughboys an list to my tale,

That sit roond the table a-drinkin your ale;

I’ll tak ye aa back tae a far distant day,

When I drove the last Clydesdales that worked on Denbrae.

They were twa bonnie blacks, wi white faces and feet,

In the hale o the roond, they could never been beat;

You’d hae lookit gey far, ’twixt the Forth and the Tay,

Tae match my twa Clydesdales, the pride o Denbrae.

They were matchless in power at the cairt and the ploo,

Ma voice and ma hands on the reins they weel knew;

There was never ae︎ thocht in their minds, but obey;

Ma twa bonnie Clydesdales, the pride o Denbrae.

Ah but time it wears on and the winters grow cauld,

And horses, like men, can dae nocht but grow auld;

But I mind on it still, as it were yesterday,

When I drove the last Clydesdales that worked on Denbrae.

Glossary

gey - very    

ae - one