Caledonia

Authors Note: I have written an English version and secondly a Scottish version hope you enjoy both :-)

Caledonia

Fuck you! Roman legionnaire
Where did you think you were going?
We were happy you stayed in England
On your side of the bricks
These past thirty five years
We had no beef with you
We cared not for Saxons and Normans
Happy to leave them to their fate
Their smoke could go up their chimney
And we wouldn’t give them wood for heat
But you are worse than them
They’ve been told already
They know better than to try
They know the fear
It’s like the fear you’re feeling
The fear that made you
Piss and shit your skirt
It makes you sweat and tremble
Crying just like you should
Did you think you could come
Up here and just take over
For the glory of Rome
Well you can’t
I am going to cut of both you arms
You’ll never wield a sword ever again
I am going to cut of both you legs
You’ll never again be able to march
I am going to take both your eyes
So you can’t see the storm that’s coming
I am going to bite out your tongue
So you can’t plead for your life
I am going to take your scalp
Make a bag for carrying my silver
Then I’m going to take your life
Then I am going to take your soul
And strap your bloody torso to
Your horse and send it back
To your wall of bricks
And your men will know the fear
What do you mean ‘Please God?’
I am your fuckin God and
I will now take what’s mine
Stay away from Caledonia
You’ve been told

Caledonia (Scottish version)

Fuck ye! Roman legionnaire
Whur dae ye think ye wur goin?
We wur happy ye abided in Englund
Own yer side O thae bricks
These past thurty five years
We hud nae beef wae ye
Didnae care fur the Englush
Happy tae leave them tae thur fate
Thur smoke can gie up thur Lum
An wae wouldnae gie thum wid fur heat
But ye are worser than they be
Thu’ve been telt the wance
They knows better thun tae try
They knowest the fear
It’s like the fear ye’re feeling noo
The fear that mak’ed ye
Pish an shite yer kilt
It makes ye sweat an tremble
Bubblin jist like ye should
Did ye think ye could waander
Up tae here an just tak ouwer
Fur the glory ae Rome
Well ye fuckin cannae
Am gawn tae cut af baith yer erms
Yu’ll ne’er wield a claymore er again
Am gawn tae cut af baith yer legs
Yu’ll ne’er again be able tae march
Am gone tae tak baith yer ees
So yae cannae see the storm that’s comin
Am gonnae tae bite oot yur tongue
So ye cannae begger fur yer life
Am gawn tae take yer scalp
Mak a sporran fur haudin ma silver
Then Am gonnae tak yer life
Then Am gonnae tak yer sowel
An strap yer bloody torso tae
Yer hoarse an send im back
Tae yer waaws ae bricks
An yer men wull ken the fear
Whit dae ye mean; ‘Please God?’
Am yer fuckin God an
Ah wull noo tak whit’s mine
Stay awauw fae Caledonia
Ye’ve been telt