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Ower the Hills and Faur Awa'
Traditional, arranged by the Tannahill Weavers
Here's an old poem, which has been set to this nifty little melody by the extremely talented Connie Dover. A song about a piper who can play but one tune, "ower the hills and faur awa’”, and probably has the cheek to wonder why the girl left him. It is amazing how many pipers are actually asked if they can play "ower the hills and faur awa’", but it is even more amazing how many of them take it as a request for the melody and not the more obvious request for them to take a hike.

It reminds us of the old story about the regimental piper going over the top with his colleagues at the Battle of the Somme. It has for many years been the tradition that Scottish regiments are piped into battle; a tradition that is still honoured. Picture the scene, there he is blowing away furiously, right there in the thick of the battle. Bullets and shells are flashing past him and his fellow soldiers, bombs are exploding all around him, things are whizzing and whooshing all over the place. Suddenly out of the confusion of the battle the unmistakable loud voice of his sergeant major rings out. "For @#%$+* sake Angus, play something they like!"
 

LYRICS: 

Jocky met with Jeannie fair between the dawnin' and the day,
But Jocky noo is fu' o' care since Jenny's stown his heart away.
Although she promised tae be true, she proven has alas unkind,
The which does make poor Jocky rue that e'er he lo'ed a fickle mind.

Jocky was a bonnie lad that e'er was born in Scotia fair,
But noo poor lad, he does run mad syne Jenny causes his dispair.
Young Jocky was a pipers son, he fell in love when he was young,
And a' the tunes that he could play was ower the hills and far awa'.

When first I saw my Jeannie's face she seemed sae fair, sae fu' o' grace,
Wi' miekle joy my heart was filled, that's noo alas what sorrow killed.
Oh were she but as true as fair, 'twid put an end tae my dispair,
Instead o' that she is unkind and wavers like the winter wind.

Hard was my hap tae fa' in love wi' ane that does sae faithless prove,
Hard was my fate tae court a maid wha has my constant heart betrayed.
Since she is faus wha I adore, ne'er will I trust a woman more,
From a' their charms I'll flee awa', and on my pipes I'll sweetly play.

Chorus:
It's ower the hills and faur awa', it's ower the hills and faur awa',
It's ower the hills and faur awa', the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.

 

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