I met a wee scots piper
whose name was Jock
played the bagpipes
better than rock.

Music was heard in
the hills and the glen
even called me his own
special hen.

His kilt swirled
when we glanced
light on the feet
with the highland dance.

My bonnie wee laddie
scots highland man
canny wee thing
yet I missed my chance.

He went off
with a girl from the glen
I was left alone
in my own But-N-Ben.

Still I remember
my scots lad
now and again
I still feel sad.

Was it the bagpipes
or the swirl of the kilt
could be the wee dram
I had one or two.