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.