As I put my nose in Pitlochry One sunny highland noon Why the sun, of course soon disappeared So I stayed there in the gloom. There were many a well dressed lads o’er there And dressed up all in kilts they were Their faces red with tossing the caber Putting stone and drinking whisky
He poles they threw were big as trees I’d never risk me life to move them Hammers that they threw so far Would surely rip my shoulders out So ’ sought a pub and sat meself And turned to things were meant for me There drank a beer then two then three And soon I dreamed of mighty feats
refr. Fly, fly, fly up to the sky Fly, fly like a sweet firkin lullaby Fly, fly, fly up to the sky For my spirits from the whisky’s getting high.
I befriended many a chums While stood the ground and sat and drank And stood some rounds and did not know What I could say to piss them off But suddenly a punch arrived From the ether to mine ear Deductively I soon derived That I should have another beer (or two, or three, perhaps to wee dram too)
So that befell in Pitlochry Not so very long ago And thought it still shows on me face I still would have another go For though the punch was hard, the whisky Poured to me was smooth and creamy ’nd ever since I tasted it It firkin raised my kundalin