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