From Scotland to the New World
He came across the sea
To make his home in this new land
Not knowing his fate to be

He soon joined the fight for freedom
To his new land he would be true
For fighting was one thing he was good at,
It was the one thing that best he knew

He was always up for a fight, or a drink,
And at times some fool hearty prank,
He became known as one who knew not fear
This Scotsman in our ranks

In the camps of the Continental Army
There were many one of a kind’s it’s true,
But the legend of our Scotsman
Was one that quickly grew

He questioned every order
That ever came his way,
Yet the count of Red Coats killed by him
Grew larger day by day

In battle he was fearless
In camp he danced and drank,
He played the bagpipes late into night
This Scotsman in our ranks

Though not a proper solider
In one thing we all took pride,
We were all mighty happy
That this Scotsman was on our side

With a musket he was deadly,
With a knife his throw was true,
With his hands there seemed no limit
To the things that he could do

He was a man you could count on
When he was on your flank,
He never let the unit down
This Scotsman in our ranks

When the fighting was finally over,
When at last we were finally free,
The Scotsman packed up, and headed west
To see what he could see

No one knows where he ended up
But one thing we all would bet
Is that everywhere this Scotsman went
They still talk about him yet

All of us who served with him
Owe him our everlasting thanks,
For I doubt any one of us would be alive today
If not for This Scotsman in our ranks

The Poet W. L. Kite

 ©Copyright of W. L. Kite
7/8/2002