We 'ave 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor, It's safest to let 'er alone: For 'er sentries we stand by the sea an' the land (Poor beggars! - an' don't we get blown!) Take 'old o' the Wings o' the Mornin', An' flop round the earth till you 're dead; (Poor beggars! - it's 'ot over❜ead!) Then 'ere's to the sons o' the Widow, 'Ere's all they desire, an' if they require (Poor beggars! - they 'll never see 'ome!) THERE BELTS HERE was a row in Silver Street that's near to Dublin Quay, Between an Irish regiment an' English cavalree; It started at Revelly an' it lasted on till dark: The first man dropped at Harrison's, the last forninst the Park. For it was: "Belts, belts, belts, an' that's one for you!" An' it was "Belts, belts, belts, an' that's done for you!" O buckle an' tongue Was the song that we sung From Harrison's down to the Park! They called us "Delhi Rebels," an' we answered "Threes about!" That drew them like a hornet's nest we met them good an' large, The English at the double an' the Irish at the charge. Then it was: 66 Belts There was a row in Silver Street an' I was in it too; We passed the time o' day, an' then the belts went whirraru! O it was: "Belts There was a row in Silver Street they sent the Polis there, The English were too drunk to know, the Irish did n't care; But when they grew impertinint we simultaneous rose, Till half o' them was Liffey mud an' half was tatthered clo'es. For it was:— "Belts .. There was a row in Silver Street—it might ha' raged till now, But some one drew his side-arm clear, an' nobody knew how; 'T was Hogan took the point an' dropped; we saw the red blood run: An' so we all was murderers that started out in fun. We went away like beaten dogs, an' down the street we bore There was a row in Silver Street it is n't over yet, For half of us are under guard wid punishments to get; "T is all a merricle to me as in the Clink I lie: There was a row in Silver Street - begod, I wonder why! you!" 66 An' it was " Belts, belts, belts, an' that's done for THE YOUNG BRITISH SOLDIER WHEN the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East 'E acts like a babe an' 'e drinks like a beast, Now all you recruities what's drafted to-day, Fit, fit, fit for a soldier . . . First mind you steer clear o' the grog-sellers' huts, An' it's bad for the young British Soldier. When the cholera comes as it will past a doubt But the worst o' your foes is the sun over❜ead: Fool, fool, fool of a soldier . . . If you're cast for fatigue by a sergeant unkind, That it's beer for the young British soldier. Now, if you must marry, take care she is old- 'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a soldier. If the wife should go wrong with a comrade, be loth To shoot when you catch 'em - you'll swing, on my oath! Make 'im take 'er and keep 'er: that's Hell for them both, When first under fire an' you 're wishful to duck, Front, front, front like a soldier When 'arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch, An' she 'll fight for the young British soldier. When shakin' their bustles like ladies so fine, Shoot low at the limbers an' don't mind the shine, Start-, start-, startles the soldier If your officer's dead and the sergeants look white, So take open order, lie down, and sit tight, And wait for supports like a soldier. Wait, wait, wait like a soldier. When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains, Go, go, go like a soldier, Go, go, go like a soldier, MANDALAY By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' eastward to the sea, There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me; For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say: "Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay! |