All lovers of good music, who dwell throughout the land,
Come listen to me while I tell the wonders of our band:
In the Cullybackey village, that stands beside the Maine,
The kilty boys can make a noise, when led by John McClean.

When on parade they march along, their like is seldom seen,
With ribbons flying in the breeze, and tartans of the green,
As you hear their pipes a-humming, to dance you can’t refrain,
For the kilty boys do make a noise, brings dancing on the brain.

And when they march into the town, they cheer the hearts of all,
For nothing lifts the drooping heart like the strains of Lanigan’s ball,
When, o’er their day is over, they’re always asked again,
And be sure to bring their leader, you know now who I mane.

You could soar above the clouds when you hear the pipes a-drone,
When the “Campells are a-coming,” you could hear them at the Loan.
And every one delighted, if you b’lieve the word am say’n’,
And the cry is “Here’s the kilties, led on by John McClean.”

“The Cock of the North” is very good, but all when put together,
Could never match that tune sublime, “The Wave of my Native Heather.”
And “Cornrigs and other jigs, or “Scotland My Ain Hame,”
Played by the Cullybackey Kilts, who’re always blowing game.

In Antrim town, or Muckamore, or down upon the strand,
Or Ballymena, nothing like the Cullybackey band;
For they can drum and twirl the pole, to praise them, I’d be fain,
The best musicians of the day, led on by John McClean.

As they march gaily up the street, the boys look sweet and merry,
With kilts and plaids and buckles bright, and their black-cock tail glengarry
Long my they practice Scottish airs upon the banks of Maine,
Continuing to charm the fair, led by that chief McClean.

A. C. 18th April 1924

Total Page Visits: 1606 - Today Page Visits: 1