Ye social sons of Caledon,
   Wha like to rant and roar, sirs,
Wha like to drink and laugh and sing,
   And join a pot encore, sirs,
Attentive listen to my lay,
   "Twill make ye blythe and frisky,
When I relate, without delay,
   The praise of Highland whiskey.

A boon a' drink it bears the gree,
   It's a drink that never fails man,
Auld fools may drink their trash of tea,
   And ither folks their ales, man;
To a Scotchman gi'e him barley bree,
   If you would make him frisky,
And then he'll swear nocht will him fear,
   For sic's the power of whiskey.

Wi' brandy, or wi' foreign wine
   He would not wet his craigie,
There's none of them can charms combine,
   If match'd with the Kilbagie;
Then fill us up another glass,
   And let us drink our fill, sirs,
What signifies the cutty stoup?
   Bring in the Hanick gill, sirs.

What through o' siller we're bereft,
   Sae muckle mair's the pity.
But while we ha'e a penny left
   We'll gi'e't for aquavitae;
Then, O, my cheering, care-dispelling,
   Heart-reviving whiskey,
Curse a' your foreign trash, say I,
   Gi'e me good Highland whiskey.

	Duncan Campbell