The bagpipe' sound is pure delight.
A drummer said, his point is moot.
Stand back, hear this: a drum salute.
Pay heed dear child for both are true
Tis pipeband wisdom I'll imbue.
Take neither as a lowly fool
Tis grist of romantic duel.
The drums are bone; the pipes the flesh.
The pipes can drone; the drums, refresh.
Without the drums tunes float away,
A stream of notes that skirl and brae.
Tis drums that play both soft and loud.
Tis drums that ground tunes often proud.
Tis pipes that carry men's souls miles.
Tis pipes that haunt mists hung o'er isles.
Drum hearts beat strong, bass leads the way
And tenors swing that Scottish sway.
Snares can excited and stir the soul
But every heart the beats console.
The mystery of the tug of war
Remains a mystery no more.
Pipes raise the tune. Drums, pulse of life.
Betrothed through time -- husband and wife.