THE LAST TRIP HOME

(by Davy Steele and John McCusker)

A've ay worked on farms an' fae the start
The muckle horses won ma heart,
Wi' big broad backs they proudly stand,
The uncrowned kings o' a' the land,
An' yet for a' their power and strength,
They’re as gentle as a summer's wind.

	So steady boys, walk on,
	  Oor work is nearly done,
	  No more we'll till or plough the fields,
	  The horses' day is gone,
	  An' this will be oor last trip home,
	So steady boys, walk on.
 
You'll hear men sing their songs of praise,
Of Arab stallions in a race,
Or hunters that fly wi' the hounds,
To chase the fox and run him down,
But none o' them compare, I vow,
Tae a workin' pair that pulls the plough.

	So steady boys, ...

For a' the years I've plied ma trade,
An' a' the fields we've ploughed and laid,
I never thought I'd see the time
When a Clydesdale's work wid ever end,
But progress runs its driven course
Noo tractors hae replaced the horse.

	So steady boys, ...

As we head back, our friends have lined
The road tae be there one last time,
For nane o' them wid want tae miss,
The chance tae see us pass like this,
They'll say they saw in years tae come,
The muckle horses' last trip home.

	So steady boys, walk on,
	  Oor work is nearly done,
	  No more we'll till or plough the fields,
	  The horses' day is gone,
	  An' this will be oor last trip home,
	So steady boys, walk on,
	  Oor work is nearly done,
	  No more we'll till or plough the fields,
	  The horses' day is gone,
	  An' this will be oor last trip home,
	So steady boys walk on.

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