This is published in its original form and contains very strong language. Continue by scrolling down
O Errock stane, may never maid,
A maiden by thee gae,
Nor e'er a stane o'stanin' graith,
Gae stanin o'er the brae.
And tillin' Errock brae, young man,
An' tillin' Errock brae,
An open fur an 'stanin' graith,
Maun till the Errock brae.
As I sat by the Errock stane,
Surveying far and near,
Up cam a Cameronian,
Wi' a' his preaching gear.
He flang the Bible o'er the brae,
Amang the rashy gerse;
But the solemn league and covenant
He laid below my arse.
But on the edge of Errock brae,
He gae me sic a sten,
That o'er, and o'er and o'er we row'd,
Till we cam to the glen.
Yet still his pintle held the grip,
And still his bollocks hang;
That a Synod cou'd na tell the arse
To whom they did belang.
A Prelate he loups on before,
A Catholic behin',
But gie me a Cameronian,
He'll mow a body blin'.