Jimmy Maxton, James McDougall, Barbour, Gallacher and McShane Agnes Dollan, Helen Crawford, up at the heid great John Maclean These are some o' the Red Clydesiders, hundreds more I'd wish tae nane A monument I'd raise forever, these are the flower of Scotland's fame
MacDougall fell apart in prison, came back oot a broken shell They did the same tae young John Muir, eight lang months in the jaws of hell His only crime was saying no tae slaughter in a rich man's war Property is theft he said, don't die for what ye cannae live for
Rags and Tags for common folk, silk for money lenders The old church pew, the white and blue The kilt and the Young Pretender keep us sweirt But what mak's them feart is wor pride in the Red Clydesiders
Every Sunday night at Bath Street John Maclean roared oot his speil Thousands gaithered roon' tae hear him, he spak' loud and he spak' weil Fifteen years I've been a sodger, fightin' for the cause he said I'll no' stop now though ye might jail me, prison walls I dinnae dread