He Wore a Kilt that was Bloodstained Red

He Wore a Kilt that was Bloodstained Red

He wore a kilt that was bloodstained red,
‘T’was the blood of his Comrades-in-Arms.
He’d been over the crest,
Along with the best.
In the mud and the blood and the gore

He wore a kilt that was bloodstained red,
‘Twas the blood of his Comrades-in-Arms.
Now they lay, just over there,
Neath crosses, in lines, quite near.
While a piper played a lament

He still wore that kilt,
As they laid him to rest.
Along with his Comrades-in-Arms.
Where a piece of Scotland died that morn,
When a thousand Scotsmen died.

But many returned back over the crest,
To wave the mighty Saltire.
For Scotland’s proud flag
Will never be dragged
Through the mud and the blood evermore.

They’ll wave it up high,
O’er hills and glens.
Through towns and cities. Aye!
They’ll wave that great flag
And remember sad days.
Brave Scotland’s mighty band.