O Errock stane, may never maid, A maiden by thee gae, Nor e'er a stane o'stanin' graith, Gae stanin o'er the brae. And tillin' Errock brae, young man, An' tillin' Errock brae, An open fur an 'stanin' graith, Maun till the Errock brae. As I sat by the Errock stane, Surveying far and near, Up cam a Cameronian, Wi' a' his preaching gear. He flang the Bible o'er the brae, Amang the rashy gerse; But the solemn league and covenant He laid below my arse. But on the edge of Errock brae, He gae me sic a sten, That o'er, and o'er and o'er we row'd, Till we cam to the glen. Yet still his pintle held the grip, And still his bollocks hang; That a Synod cou'd na tell the arse To whom they did belang. A Prelate he loups on before, A Catholic behin', But gie me a Cameronian, He'll mow a body blin'.