TO THOMAS ATKINS I HAVE made for you a song, And it may be right or wrong, O there'll surely come a day And, Thomas, here's my best respects to you! R. K. DANNY DEEVER the bugles blowin' for?" said Files-on "To turn you out, to turn you out," the Colour-Sergeant said. "What makes you look so white, so white?" said Files-on Parade. "I'm dreadin' what I've got to watch," the Colour-Sergeant For they're hangin' Danny Deever, you can hear the Dead The regiment's in 'ollow square — they're hangin' him to- They've taken of his buttons off an' cut his stripes away, "What makes the rear-rank breathe so 'ard?" said Files-onParade. "It's bitter cold, it's bitter cold," the Colour-Sergeant said. "What makes that front-rank man fall down?" says Files-on Parade. "A touch o' sun, a touch o' sun," the Colour-Sergeant said. They are hangin' Danny Deever, they are marchin' of 'im round, They 'ave 'alted Danny Deever by 'is coffin on the ground; An' 'e'll swing in 'arf a minute for a sneakin' shootin' hound O they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'! "Is cot was right-'and cot to mine," said Files-on-Parade. "'E's sleepin' out an' far to-night," the Colour-Sergeant said. "I've drunk 'is beer a score o' times," said Files-on-Parade. "E's drinkin' bitter beer alone," the Colour-Sergeant said. They are hangin' Danny Deever, you must mark 'im to 'is place, For 'e shot a comrade sleepin' — you must look ’im in the Nine 'undred of 'is county an' the regiment's disgrace, "What's that so black agin the sun?" said Files-on-Parade. "It's Danny fightin' 'ard for life," the Colour-Sergeant said. "What's that that whimpers over'ead?" said Files-on-Parade "It's Danny's soul that's passin' now," the Colour-Sergeant said. For they're done with Danny Deever, you can 'ear the quickstep play, The regiment's in column, an' they're marchin' us away; Ho! the young recruits are shakin', an' they'll want their beer to-day, After hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'. I TOMMY WENT into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer, The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here." O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins," when the band begins to play, The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play, O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins," when the band begins to play. I went into a theatre as sober as could be, They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'ad n't none for me; But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls! For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside"; But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide, The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide, O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide. Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll, roll. We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we are n't no blackguards too, But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you; An' if sometimes our conduck is n't all your fancy paints, But it's "Please to walk in front, sir," when there's trouble There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind, O it's "Please to walk in front, sir," when there's trouble in the wind. You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all: For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot; An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please; An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool-you bet that Tommy sees! "FUZZY-WUZZY ” (Soudan Expeditionary Force) WE'VE fought with many men acrost the seas, An' some of 'em was brave an' some was not: The Paythan an' the Zulu an' Burmese; But the Fuzzy was the finest o' the lot. We never got a ha'porth's change of 'im: 'E squatted in the scrub an' 'ocked our 'orses, 'E cut our sentries up at Suakim, An' 'e played the cat an' banjo with our forces. So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome in the Soudan; You're a pore benighted 'eathen but a first-class fightin' man; We gives you your certificate, an' if you want it signed We'll come an' 'ave a romp with you whenever you're inclined. We took our chanst among the Kyber 'ills, But all we ever got from such as they Was pop to what the Fuzzy made us swaller; We 'eld our bloomin' own, the papers say, But man for man the Fuzzy knocked us 'oller. Then 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an' the missis and the kid; Our orders was to break you, an' of course we went an' did. We sloshed you with Martinis, an' it was n't 'ardly fair; the square. |