[Verse] In tartan kilts with spiky hair, We defy the ancient glare, Tradition's like a whiskey glass, We sip it slow, we raise a sass. [Verse 2] The bagpipes wail, the snare drums crack, In shadowed lanes, no looking back, Ancestral tales mix with the new, We carve our path, a rebel's brew. [Chorus] We'll take the old and twist it 'round, A modern sound, yet firmly bound, To roots that tug and winds that sway, We'll do our traditions our own damn way. [Bridge] The ghost of Burns is winking sly, He knows we've got that rebel eye, To honor past yet break the mold, In every beat, our truth is bold. [Verse 3] A ceilidh where the punk rock thrives, Where ancient clans must now revive, Not in the murk of done and gone, But in the clash of night 'til dawn. [Chorus] We'll take the old and twist it 'round, A modern sound, yet firmly bound, To roots that tug and winds that sway, We'll do our traditions our own damn way.
