Lyrics:
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The Scottish Original Version of "The Flowers of the Forest"
I've heard them liltin', at the ewe milkin,'
Lasses a-liltin' before dawn
Egyptian fonts and ankhs
Scottish write with Montblancs let us stomp
I walk as my father walk, master builder is what I thought
You look just like how
With the ghosts and the ancient stones
High up on the parapet
A Scottish piper stands alone
And high on the wind
The highland drums begin to roll
psyche's a mess
Your economy is in distress
You're hunbelievable
The mystery of scottish sport
Is why we hate the english so.
I love rhe english very much,
justice to Justice one fre'
One thing that you niggas must acknowledge,
I beat beef like the pants on Scottish kilt
Is how it's dealt
I've been
I was walking down a quiet road in Ireland
Out beneath those tough old ancient stars
When I thought I heard old Scottish Mike singing Carrick
You're hunbelievable
You're hunbelievable
The mystery of scottish sport
Is why we hate the english so.
I love the english very much
As long as they don't
top equals
No imagination
You're hunbelievable
You're hunbelievable
The mystery of scottish sport
Is why we hate the english so.
I love the english
and sons where Tech N9ne eats
39th at the bootleg I used to find peace
But at the scottish right on lynnwood masons at times meet
I used to kick it
dream of anybody but me,
Nobody but me!
Though you may fly to Scottish Highland,
Or try some isle near Napoli,
When you're whistlin' "The Campbells
the body of a goddess
Brazilian mixed with Scottish
She exotic, she come from a island
I can trust her in the trap
She ain’t gon steal my dope
If the feds
and the right to lie
Pumping is a splendid gift, I hope that you will catch my drift
Some like pumping in the lift, just like the Scottish tongs
Crackpot
I'm and Irish cripple, a Scottish jew
I'm the blackmail man
A raspberry ripple, a buckle-my-shoe
I'm the blackmail man
I'm a dead fish coon,
the summer of the year
Going transmetropolitan
From Arlington House with a 2 bob bit
To the Scottish shores today
Going transmetropolitan
We'll drink
counted on Guest Informant
In the burning scorch of another Sunday over
The miserable Scottish hotel,
Resembled a Genesis or Marillion, 1973 LP cover
I'm and Irish cripple, a Scottish Jew
I'm the blackmail man
A raspberry ripple, a buckle-my-shoe
I'm the blackmail man
I'm a dead fish coon,
night, walked off the pier and drowned
My mother was of Scottish blood; it's there that she was born
They brought her to America in 1924
They left behind
acknowledge that ancient Kemet is where it started
Way farther back than the knights
Or the Rite of the Scottish
You need to wake up, no new Bugatti
My
as a shim and Scottish pale
Bright white light like a bridal veil
"I don't need you"
Cut to chewed through finger nails
I was a child in the ivy then
I
I feel as volatile as the weather
Over fields of Scottish heather
The night before Hallowe'en
You know I feel like
A catamaran in summer
the sunset
And ask our Scottish neighbors
If independence looks any good
'Cause they just might understand
How to take an abstract notion of personal
the sunset
And ask our Scottish neighbors
If independence looks any good
'Cause they just might understand
How to take an abstract notion of personal
the sunset
And ask our Scottish neighbors
If independence looks any good
'Cause they just might understand
How to take an abstract notion of personal
whatsoever Like original brodel Trevor
Positive vibe merchant grandson of Lord Buckley
Scottish Ralston shows up if you're lucky
Ad Raspler the Swede,
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