Teksty: Barbara Dickson. The Fate o' Charlie. The Battle Of Prestonpans.

The Chevalier, being void of fear
Did march up Birsle brae, man
And through Tranent ere he did stent
As fast as he could gae, man
While General Cope did taunt and mock
Wi' mony a loud hurra, man
But 'ere next morn proclaim'd the cock
We heard anither craw, man

The bluff dragoons swore, blood and oons!
They'd make the rebels run man,
And yet they flee when us they see
And when I fire a gun, man
They turn'd their backs, their foot they break
Such terror seiz'd them a', man
Some wet their cheeks, some fyl'd their breeks
And some for fear did fa', man

Smith made sic haste, he spurr'd his beast
'Twas little there he saw, man
To the borders rade, and falsely said
The Scots were rebels a', man
O'er Sourtra Hill, ere he stood still
Before he tasted meat, man
Troth, he may brag of his swift nag
That bore him aff sae fleet, man

At yon' thorn tree, where you may see
Bewest the meadows mill, man
There mony slain lay on the plain
The clans pursuing still, man
Sic unco hacks, and deadly whacks
I never saw the like, man
Lost hands and heads cost them their deads
That fell at Preston dyke, man