Fare thee weel, ye dungeons dark and strang,
Fareweel , fareweel to thee.
Macpherson's rant will ne'er be lang,
On yonder gallers tree.

Chorus
Sae wontonly, sae dauntonly,
O rantonly gaed he,
He played a tune an' he danced aroon,
Below the gallers tree.

By a woman's treacherous hand
That I was condemned to dee,
High on a ledge of her window she stood,
And a blanket she threw over me.
Chorus

Well the laird o' Grant, ye Highlan' Sa'nt
That first laid hands on me,
He plead the cause o' Peter Broon,
He watched Macpherson dee.
Chorus

Some come here noo tae see me hang
And some to buy my fiddle,
Before I'll pairt wi' thee,
I'll brak' her through the middle.
Chorus

Come ye loose the bands from off my hands
Bring tae me noo my sword,
There's nae a man in a' Scotland
That'll brave him at his word.
Chorus

Little did my mother think
When first she cradled me,
That I would turn a rovin' boy
And die upon the gallers tree.
Chorus

The reprieve was comin' o'er the Brig o' Banff,
To set Macpherson free,
They pu' the clock a quarter fast,
And they hanged him to the tree.
Chorus

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