Testo di The Banks Of Sicily

Fare ye well, ye banks of Sicily Fare ye well, ye valley and shore There's no Scot will mourn the loss o' ya Poor bloody soldiers are weary The pipie's all tuned and he's piping away He'll not come to town for his vino today The sky is like Antrim all cloudy an' grey And the song that they're playing is eerie Fare ye well, ye banks of Sicily Fare ye well, ye valley and shore There's no Scot will mourn the loss o' ya Poor bloody soldiers are weary It's march down the stair, and line on the bay Packs on your backs and the boats are away Waiting your turn while the pipe and drum play But the song that they're playing is eerie Fare ye well, ye banks of Sicily Fare ye well, ye valley and shore There's no Scot will mourn the loss o' ya Poor bloody soldiers are weary The drummie is polished, the drummie is grand He cannot be seen for his straps and his bands He's greased himself up for a photo and stand To leave wi' his Lola, his dearie Fare ye well, ye banks of Sicily Fare ye well, ye valley and shore There's no Scot will mourn the loss o' ya Poor bloody soldiers are weary