Remember the ice age, the dawn of mankind
When sabre-toothed tigers roamed free
A cold snap can happen, the winter will come
Wrapped up in my fur I will be.
Alive and quite happy, while munching away
The mist from the moors rolling in
For up in the Highlands, away from the sea
When the warm days are over, the nights just begin.
The woods give me shelter; my horns, my defence
The grass grows wherever I eat
My kindness, like milk, flows, sustaining my calves
And you, if we ever should meet.
Our days are all numbered, but still I am bred
To stomp in the peat and the heather
To butter your tastebuds or stand in the rain
There’s never the wrong kind of weather!