Perhaps you were one of these?
There was three kings into the east,
Three kings both great and high,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn should die.
They took a plough and plough'd him doun,
Put clods upon his head,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn was dead.
But the chearful spring came kindly on,
And show'rs began to fall;
John Barleycorn got up again
And sore surprised them all.
The sultry suns of summer came,
And he grew thick and strong,
His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears,
That no one should him wrong.
The sober Autumn enter'd mild,
When he grew wan and pale;
His bending joints and drooping head
Show'd he began to fail.
His colour sickened more and more,
He faded into age;
And then his enemies began
To show their deadly rage.
They've ta'en a weapon long and sharp,
And cut him by the knee;
Then ty'd him fast upon a cart,
Like a rogue for forgerie.
They laid him down upon his back,
And cudgell'd him full sore;
They hung him up before the storm,
And turn'd him o'er and o'er.
They filled up a darksome pit
With water to the brim,
The heaved in John Barleycorn,
There let him sink or swim.
They laid him out upon the floor,
To work him farther woe,
And still, as signs of life appear'd,
They toss'd him to and fro'.
They wasted, o'er a scorching flame,
The marrow of his bones;
But a Miller used him worst of all,
For he crush'd him between two stones.
And they hae ta'en his very heart's blood,
And drank it round and round;
And still the more and more they drank,
Their joy did more abound.
John Barleycorn was a hero bold
Of noble enterprise.
For if ye do but taste his blood,
'Twill make your courage rise.
'Twill make a man forget his woe;
'Twill heighten all his joy;
'Twill make the widow's heart to sing,
Though the tear were in her eye.
Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
Each man a glass in hand,
And may his great prosperity
Ne'er fail in old, Scotland.
The unofficial Scottish national anthem, also called "Bruce's Address to the Troops" (and definitely feistier than the one in "Braveheart"), and the first tune every Highland piper learns.
Scots Wha Hae
Scots wha hae wae Wallace bled,
Scots wham Bruce hae aftimes led,
Welcome tae your gory bed,
Or tae victory
Nows the day and nows the hour,
See the front o battle lour,
See approach proud Edwards power,
Chains and slavery.
Wha will be a traitor knave,
Wha can fill a cowards grave
Wha sae base as be a slave,
let him turn and flee,
Wha for Scotlands king and law,
Freedoms sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand and freeman fa,
let him follow me.
By oppressions woes and pains,
By your sons in servile chains,
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free.
Lay the proud usurpers low,
Tyrants fall in every foe,
Liberty's in every blow,
let us do or dee.