An ill wind blew you in, they say
To you ill wind is fair and warm.
How else can magpies this north fly
Locust-like? You come in swarms.
Do you enjoy us meallach birdies?
You steal our rings and Cataibh brooches
And you sing when first you see as
The pictishvikingcelt approaches.
Much rarer and fragile breed than you
Much more busied being extinct to hell
From humble nests hard driven to have
Blind eyes pecked out where we fell.
Green magpie pica pica thief
You fill the glens with tears and grief
An ill wind blew you in alack
Ye magpies on Meall a’ Mealladh.
Meall – a lump of hill
Mealladh – deceiving
Meallach – alluring and bewitching
Cataibh – people of Sutherland