The Pipe Band
Sweetly the pipes are singing,
Timely the drums are ringing,
Echoing over the hillside and glen.
Came here from every corner,
Even across the border,
Kilted in tartan, fine women and men.
One thousand marching feet,
Hundreds of drummers beat
As they compete for the prizes to win.
This is our championship
No one can make a slip
Each for each other, so let’s all fall in.
Some from the offshore islands,
Some from the Scottish Highlands,
All gathered here in their ancient attire.
Pipers are blowing, drummers are rolling,
Hearts beating madly with burning desire.
Drum Majors straight and tall
Elegantly leading all,
Solemn face judges with clip-board and pen,
The winners to anoint, losers to disappoint;
They’ll all be back for to try once again.
Then with decisions made
It’s time for the mass parade,
Victors and vanquished they march side by side.
With volume so loud and rare
parading around the square
Filling our hearts with emotion and pride.
Soldiers of destiny
Warriors of the free
Pipers and drummers: our comrades of yore.
Gladly across the land
We still have the Pipers Band
To honour and cherish and love more and more.