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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
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