Two men met on a Scottish Moor
One was rich the other poor
The one approached with florid face
The other at a steady pace
"Get off my land" the Laird cried out
" What land?" the walker asked
That piece of land on which you stand
You oafish townbreed lout
The Rambler tugged his forelock
Beneath his wooly cap
Then took a step to the side
And studied close his map
This piece of land you say is yours
Is on a "right of way"
That gives me the freedom to is walk on
So I bid you sir "Good day"