The Impressman

Davie Simmons

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Davie Simmons


4:54

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As a lad in the land of the great Highland Clans
I was bonded to the person of a certain Lord Montcrief
I betrayed him in the end
To the Devil I did send
Now he's burning and we're turning
So raise a glass my friend
A lad of low degree from an Ayrshire family
I'd the bitter task to cut and till
That unfertile ground
What little wealth we had
Wasn't proof against the bad
As the Darien Investments proved unsound

In the uniform, I wear as a Royal Fusilier
I have warred in countless countries for the crown
I have drank many ale with those gentlemen so pale
But the lot never prospered
Let's continue my tale

Montcrief beheld our plight
And he exercised his right
To allot tenant crofters sons such as I
He let my parents know in his company I'd go
As bondsman I would serve him well or die

In the uniform, I wear as a Royal Fusilier
I have warred in countless countries for the crown
I have drank many ale with those gentlemen so pale
But the lot never prospered
Ay hay one more ale

The demon has arrived
Break man
I'm swearing now
For all those that are
Here to witness this today
This is what we wanted in Canada a long time ago

I have often harkened back 
To that long and sorry track
And pondered why I didn't break and run from his side
I say as I did then when one's poverty is grim
The only coin of value is one's pride
In the uniform, I wear as a Royal Fusilier
I have warred in countless countries for the crown
I have drank many ale with those gentlemen so pale
But the lot never prospered
Let's continue my tale
No sooner had we left from our dwelling dispossessed
That I learned that soon my person
Would be sold for a fee
One hundred other lads in his prison cells he had
Impressed as British soldiers we would be

In the uniform, I wear as a Royal Fusilier
I have warred in countless countries for the crown
I have drank many ale with those gentlemen so pale
But the lot never prospered
Ay hay one more ale

Three years of servitude
And the curse of army food
Found me marching through the bogs
That ringed that wee lonely glen
A Battle soon was made with a hearty fusillade
By afternoon we took Culloden Field

When the foe finally fled save the maimed and the dead
I walked among the fallen me kilt soaked with blood
For them not but grief 
But I stepped on Lord Montcrief
And my spirit rose above me
To look down on that field

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Written by: David Simmons

Lyrics © DistroKid

Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind

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