| A long, long time ago where Scotland meets the water,
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| They climbed aboard a schooner headed west,
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| For safe passage they did pray, with their sons and their daughters,
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| To a new world they hoped to be the best.
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| They rode the waves for weeks
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| To the mouth of the St. Lawrence,
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| And crawled off that boat in Montreal.
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| Generations lived and died,
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| Between the river and the border,
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| From the other side
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| There came a deadly called.
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| Far to the south, sabers had been rattled,
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| It was said that any brave should take a stand,
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| Young man loved the fight with pistol in saddle,
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| So he made his way on down to Dixieland.
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| And his mother prayed for him,
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| She prayed for his safe passage,
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| She prayed that he came barely back alive,
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| Music Interlude
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| That boy returned old but got his 40 acres,
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| And they cleared the hemlock from that low hill side,
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| He built my father’s house,
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| And a barn when he was able,
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| Still standin' tall to prove he was alive.
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| Our daddy told us young,
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| He would be the last one,
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| To raise a livin' from that rocky land,
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| So across these many miles,
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| I’m back again too often,
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| My journey with my guitar in my hand,
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| My mother prays for me,
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| She prays for my safe passage,
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| She prays that I will make it back home alive… |