Wi’ a Jar o’ Gleamin’

I’ll gang tae the glen where the hill folk bide,
An’ carry a jar o’ their gleamin’ pride.
Beneath the pale moon where the heather lies,
I’ll drink till the morn wi’ the burnin’ skies.

When dawn’s light returns o’er the hills sae high,
My thirst will demand, “Aye, nae time tae lie!”
Back up tae the hills whaur the spirits cry,
For the bottle’s gone dry, an’ sae am I!