Title: "The Boys of the Heather" (Tempo: Fast, lively march | 4/4 Time | Instrument: Driving banjo, accordion, fiddle, and stomping bodhrán) (Intro) (Lively banjo reel supported by handclaps and heavy bodhrán beats) (Verse 1) I was born where the mountain mist kisses the glen, Far away from the court and the council of men. Where the lords in their velvet look down from the hill, And they think that a tax and a sword keeps us still! Well, they sent for their taxmen with ledger and chain, To measure our fields and to harvest our grain, So we met them down low where the river runs deep, And we gave them a lesson they’ll keep in their sleep! (Chorus) (Upbeat, loud, full-throated ensemble singing) So come out from your manors and show us your coat, With your grand polished silver and gold at your throat! For the hills are alive with the clash and the cheer, And the boys of the heather are standing right here! Oh, you brought all your iron, you brought all your men, And we chased you right back to your castle again! (Verse 2) Now they say that our fathers were silent and meek, That they bowed to the crown and turned t’other cheek. Well, if grandfather bowed, it was only to find A good sturdy stone that he’d left right behind! They came with their trumpets, they came with their drum, To tell us the day of reckoning had come, But the fiddle struck up and the whistle blew high, And we danced them right back 'neath a stormy gray sky! (Chorus) So come out from your manors and show us your coat, With your grand polished silver and gold at your throat! For the hills are alive with the clash and the cheer, And the boys of the heather are standing right here! Oh, you brought all your iron, you brought all your men, And we chased you right back to your castle again! (Bridge) (Tempo picks up speed, handclaps accelerate, lively fiddle solo) For five hundred winters you’ve claimed every sod, By order of kings and the grace of your God, But the land isn't bought and the land isn't sold, By a slip of parchment or a pocket of gold! (Verse 3) So here’s to the rebels who walk in the night, Who prefer a free hill to a velvet-draped light. Raise a glass to the mountain, a toast to the glen, When the trouble is over, we’ll do it again! (Chorus) So come out from your manors and show us your coat, With your grand polished silver and gold at your throat! For the hills are alive with the clash and the cheer, And the boys of the heather are standing right here! Oh, you brought all your iron, you brought all your men, And we chased you right back to your castle again! (Outro) (Pounding bodhrán and double-time tempo acceleration) Aye, we chased you right back to your castle again! (Shout / Cheers / Final crashing chord)
