Zbiór tekstów różnych wykonawców

Tekst :

O, what a parish, a terrible parish,
O, what a parish is that o Dunkel ,
They hangit their minister, droon d their precentor
Dang doun the steeple, and fuddled the bell.
The steeple was doun, but the Kirk was still staunin ,
They biggit a lum whaur the bell used to hang,
A stellpat they gat and they brewed Hieland whisky,
On Sundays they drank it, and ranted and sang.
O, had you but seen how graceful it lookit
To see the cramm d pews sae socially join
Macdonald the piper stuck up in the poopit
He made the pipes skirl out music divine.
Wi whisky and beer, they d curse and they d swear
They d argy and fecht what ye daurna weel tell
Bout Geordie and Cherlie they bothered fu rarely
Wi whisky they re worse than the devil himsel .
When the heart-cheerin spirit had mounted their garret
To a ball on the green they a did adjourn
Maids wi coats kilted, they steppit and liltit
When tired they shook hands, and then hame did return.
If the kirks a owre Scotland held like social meetin s
Nae warning ye d need from a far-tinklin bell
For a true love and friendship wad draw ye thegither
Far better than roarin the horrors o hell.

[Obie Trice]
Babe uh, yeah!
Girl, you my only one though aight, haha
You my baby, fuck all that shit
You re the one for me
Check it out.

[Verse - Obie Trice]
Baby I m feeling the feelings you giving, I m feelin your style
And I m...

Donald s gane up the hill hard and hungry,
Donald comes down the hill wild and angry;
Donald will clear the gouk s nest cleverly,
Here s to the king and Donald Macgillavry.
Come like a weigh-bauk, Donald Macgillavry,
Come like a weigh-bauk, Donald Macgillavry,
Balance them fair, and balance...

Careless whispers drifting by the ears,
trust in no one, silence broken by careless whispers
You ve got a lot to say, but I m not listening,
and I ve got a lot to say, that your ears are not hearing
Back and forth how much time can we waste? Hold your tongue and...

The throwing of your mental clothes wasn t ever your intention
The malady within your heart has no cure and prevention
There are those who move clouds
Those who move clouds
Heard it murmured in a far off crowd
Those who move clouds

The highland clearances

Ah, for the glens are lyin bare,
And the wee bit farm deserted,
And the woods of Germany,
Grows in rows o er the broken hearted.

Black is the wood on the roofance was braw
But blacker still is your heart, Victoria,