In the Capital of Carrick
Lies the essence of my soul;
My boyhood dreams were inspired
In the history of Maybole.
Fortune's grace will always shine
This Carrick boy was told,
On those who dream and wander
And those who dare be bold.

On the meadows by the green
As lads we kicked the ball,
And roamed the ancient high street
By that stately castle wall.
We chased the bonnie lassies
By the Greenside's lonely park;
Our thoughts were not of history
In the wee hours of the dark.

Praise we sang of summer recess
At the church amid the glen;
Sipped Cockydrighty's water
With resounding grand amen.
When summer sun was fading
We gave little, or no thought;
We ran the braes and vennels
Of a history long forgot.

Though centuries are passing
There remains the auld kirkyaird
Where Duncan, Earl of Carrick,
Built a town that God has spared.
Eight hundred years of travelers
Passing through her streets of time
Like those of Knox and Kennedy;
 Even Rabbie in his prime.

Some travelers have scattered
Across the wind swept sea,
But Ayrshire blood is surging
Through hearts that set them free.
They wander on the prairies
And beyond the outback sands,
They wander on the snow peaks
Of those far off distant lands.

But memories will haunt them
Of an ancient castle fair;
Of heritage, and freedom,
And a sanctuary for prayer.
A voice of Scotland's history
Blood sheds from every vein;
Among these hills poets walked
And kings were born to reign.

The history, and legacy
Remains both bold and strong
Amidst the lowland beauty,
Where the poet tuned his song.
But when the piper calls for
This soldier from the barrack;
Youthful thoughts and aging dreams,
Will still belong in Carrick.