He was a son of Scotland
But a father to Rhodesia
Once {Unintelligible}, and Glengarry
This is the story of his life
Like many men before him
So raise your drums and drink a toast to Harry
In a tiny village in the Lowther Hills
By the name of Wanlockhead
A sturdy Scottish laddie
Was born and raised and bred
Was a misty rugged mining palce twixt hills of purple and green
And they sent him down the pit to work when he was in his teens
The the 14-18 war was waged so he joined the Royal Scots
He was just 15 so they sent him home, before he fired any shots
But the HLI didn't ask too much so he took another chance
Cos' they needed Scotsmans, Warriors, to fight the foe in France
Ramadodamdodamday, doth your old Glengarry
Raise your drums and drink a toast to Harry
In that campaign he was wounded twice but he lived to tell the tale
Then came demob and he needed a job so to Africa set sail
On the good steam-ship Modassa, she was all of 9,000 tonne
Pride of the British-India line, bound for Dar es Salam
Mombassa, Tanga, Zanzibar, there were many a port-a-call
He was pleased to put foot on good dry land
After many a gale and squall
Then he met an Elephant hunter, Mr. Chitty was his name
Who said "Come to Kikoma" on the Central Railways train
Ramadodamdodamday, doth your old Glengarry
Raise your drums and drink a toast to Harry
Then down Lake Tanganyika on the {Unintelligible}
To a place that they once called Bismarck Court{?}
Where few white men had been
But he did not fancy hunting so in the red African dawn
He walked the length of that great lake
To a place called Abercorn (Mbala)
The he heard there was some mining
At a place called Broken Hill (Kabwe)
It took 5 days to get there, on the way there were many a spill
Because of the ol' black water, went south to Bulawayo
When he got well with the {Unintelligible} to Zvishavane he did go
Ramadodamdodamday, doth your old Glengarry
Raise your drums and drink a toast to Harry
He worked around Rhodesia, North South and East and West
Looking for the kind of thing that woiuld suit his pocket best
The came the great depression so with a Mauser in his hands
Returned to Tanganyika to the {?} Gold rush lands
He staked a claim, went panning in the {?} stream
Searching for that nugget that was ever digger's dream
But the gold ran out so he sold his picks and pans
To a woman called Rose
What she was gonna do with then, only heaven knows
Ramadodamdodamday, doth your old Glengarry
Raise your drums and drink a toast to Harry
So he travelled north to {Unintelligible}
To a place called Kaiserhof {?}
But nothing ever happened there
And soon he had had enough
So back to old Ujiji, and the crystal lake's white shore
Where Livingstone and Stanley had met some years before
Sailed off on the barren Dallas {?}
To Albert {?}'s fair harbour
And travelled there to Gobalo {?}
On the river Lualaba, on a mighty paddle steamer
To the railhead at Bikoma {?}
Road the {Unintelligible} railways, back down to Angola
Ramadodamdodamday, doth your old Glengarry
Raise your drums and drink a toast to Harry