Eighteen teams of horses On the field of Aird a Mhorrain the young men were ploughing On the day the Sleat people came Black was the colour of the blood That flowed like a flood to the land The arrow, the long sword Through the generosity of the Udal people Generation to generation From one name to another My time is now To walk this corner of Uist The geneology of Goraidh The sons of Ruairi The sons of Ranald The children of Donald The children of my own family
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