Chorus
So here’s to Andrew Gannel, whoe’er he may have been
And to the hill that bears his name, among the Ochils green
He ne’er shall be forgotten, so long as folk roam free
And here beneath the Ochil skies, his legacy shall be

“Who was this Andrew Gannel?”, the question we all ask
No local sage or worthy, seems equal to the task
A mystery for the present, a puzzle from the past
His secret lies enshrouded, where the Ochils hold it fast

He may have been a farmer, who lived in olden days
And grazed his sheep and cattle, on Clackmannan’s stony braes
Or else some worthy minister, who preached with fire and flame
Or Bruce’s brave companion, or Wallace’s the same

Perhaps he was an engineer, who spanned the rivers’ tide
With iron, stone and timber, on Forth or Devon side
Or maybe in some troubled time, he lived outside the law
And robbed the rich and powerful, to countenance the poor