(Traditional - words by Harold Boulton)
Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,
Onward! the sailors cry;
Carry the lad that's born to be king
Over the sea to Skye
Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar,
Thunder will rend the air;
Baffled, our foes stand by the shore,
Follow they will not dare
Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,
Onward! the sailors cry;
Carry the lad that's born to be king
Over the sea to Skye
Many's the lad fought on that day,
Well the claymore could yield,
When the night came, silently lay
Dead on Culloden's field
Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,
Onward! the sailors cry;
Carry the lad that's born to be king
Over the sea to Skye
