Do ye ken John Peel with his coat so grey,

Do ye ken John Peel at the break of day,

Do ye ken John Peel when he’s far far away,

With his hounds and his horn in the morning?

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For the sound of his horn brought me from my bed,

And the cry of his hounds which he oft-times led,

Peel’s tally-ho would awaken the dead,

Or a fox from his lair in the morning.


Yes I ken John Peel and Ruby too,

Ranter and Ringwood,  Bellman and True.

From a find, to a check, from a check to a view,

From a view to a death in the morning.



For the Border men won the Frenchman’s mace,

And laurel wreath has its rightful place,

So we’ll cast off the hounds at the start of the chase,

And we’ll have a good hunt in the morning.



And the King’s Own marched forty miles a day,

So at Waterloo they could join the fray,

See the red rose bloom on St. George’s Day,

As we proudly parade in the morning.



Now with England’s lion hear the dragon roar,

At the end of the hunt we’ll have twice the score,

And the King’s Own Borders will live ever more,

For the sound of the horn in the morning.



So then here’s to John Peel from my heart and soul,

Let’s drink his health, let’s finish the bowl,

And we’ll follow John Peel through fair and through foul,

If we want a good hunt in the morning.



Do ye ken John Peel with his coat so grey,

For he lived at Caldbeck once on a day,

Now John Peel has gone and he’s far far away,

We shall ne’er hear his voice in the morning.


Composed by King’s Own Border Regt.  1974


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