By the left, quick march, Crua chan!
It was seven hundred and forty-five
The highland spirit had revived
Mac Dougall and Mac Donald there
The clans had come from everywhere, singing
Fee fi fo fum
I smell the blood of a Englishman
Fee fi fo fum
Come on London, here we come

We went all the way down south
We were frothening at the mouth
Coming down to Derby town
We'd beaten everyone around, singing
Fee fi fo fumé

We ended at Culloden moor
Feeling bad and feeling poor
The redcoats had chased us there
There we died and there we stayed, singing
Fee fi fo fum, I smell the blood of a Scotsman
Fee fi fo fum, United Kingdom here we come

We the Bonnie prince has gone back home
He's never gonna come back

We'ldo to you at Wembley
We'll do it to you in pubs
With the Scottish louts larking about
Here come your rats, cruachan lad