My Raasay Weekend, to the Tune of Robert Service

There's A race of men that don't fit in,

A race that can't stay still;

So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.


They range the field and they rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain's crest;


Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don't know how to rest.

If they just went straight they might go far,
They are strong and brave and true;

But they're always tired of the things that are,
And they want the strange and new.