Noo theors songs aboot wor soldiers, and wor sailors by the score
And theors songs aboot wor tinkers and tailors at your door
But aam ganna sing a song that ye have nivvor hord afore, aboot the Canny Shepherd Laddies O' the Hills

Chorus

Oh, the shepherds of the Coquet, of the Alwin and the Rede, From the Beaumont and the Breamish, they are aal the same breed, With theor collie dogs a-hind them , and theor sticks with heron heeds, Theor the Canny Shepherd Laddies O' the Hills

For they gan oot amang the heather, aye afore the break of day, Way oot by the peat hags, they surely wend theor way, For they'll help a Yow thats sickly, or a tup thats gone astray, For theor the Canny Shepherd Laddies O' the Hills

Chorus

Now they aall gan doon to Allinton to see the shepherd show, And into Foreman's bar you'll surely see them go, And they'll discuss and will argee, but fight god bless ye no, For theor the Canny shepherd Laddies O' the Hills

Chorus

For it's down by the Rose and Thistle, that's the place where hikers dwell, In the dear old Coquetdale they love so well
For the hikers there assemble, with their glasses raised on high, And the magic of their singing creates hell
Yes the magic of their singing of the songs they love so well, Of Kathllen Mavourneen and the rest, For we will serenade Jeff Foreman while our lives and voices last
Then we will pass away forgotten like the rest

Verses

A hiker went hiking one fine summers day, baa, baa, baa, He hiked over Cushat and far way, Baa, baa, baa
Outward, upward, out on a spree, Bound from here to eternity, Will all you kind wardens have pity on me, baa, baa, baa

Our poor little hiker has got sore feet, baa, baa, baa, He got his two blisters whilst on Clennel Street, baa, baa, baa
He hiked over Cheviot and back again, But as soon as he neared Wholehope it started to rain, The door it was bolted with padlock and chain, baa, baa, baa

From the Cheviot Hills
Cross the Lowland Dales
To the banks of the coaly Tyne
From the Kielder woods
To the Great North Sea
Lies that bonny land of mine

I have wandered far
'Neath the Eastern Star
O'er a waste of burning sand
But my heart will yearn
Until I return
To that bonny Northumberland

Yes my heart still yearns
For those Cheviot burns
And the moors above Coquetdale
Aye for Clennel Street
For that fire of peat
For the wild rolling Borderland