Dick Gaughan Follow

The piper is ready to march on his way.
He won’t be around for his vino today.
The sky o'er Messina is heavy and gray,
And all the poor soldiers are weary.

Farewell you banks of Sicily.
Fare you well you valley and shore.
There's not one Scot will mourn the loss of you;
All the poor soldiers are weary.

So down the stairs and line the waterside.
Wait your turn - the troop ship awa'.
Down the stairs and line the waterside,
All the poor soldiers are weary.

The drummer is polished, the drummer is smart.
He’s saying goodbye to his dark-haired sweetheart.
He’s all dressed up for the photograph
That he’ll leave with Lola his dearie.

Farewell you banks of Sicily.
Fare you well you valley and shore.
There's not one Scot will mourn the loss of you;
All the poor soldiers are weary.

So tune the pipes and sound the tenor drums.
Leave your kit this side of the wharf.
Tune the pipes and sound the tenor drums;
All the poor soldiers are weary.

Farewell you banks of Sicily.
Fare you well you valley and shore.
There's not one Scot will mourn the loss of you;
All the poor soldiers are weary.

Farewell you banks of Sicily.
Fare you well you valley and shore.
There's not one Scot will mourn the loss of you;
All the poor soldiers are weary.

All the poor soldiers are weary . . .