DANNY DEEVER

"WHAT are the bugles blowin' for?" said Files-on

Parade.

"To turn you out, to turn you out," the ColourSergeant said.

"What makes you look so white, so white?" said Files-on-Parade.

"I'm dreadin' what I've got to watch," the ColourSergeant said.

For they're hangin' Danny Deever, you can
hear the Dead March play,

The regiment's in 'ollow square-they're
hangin' him to-day;

They've taken of his buttons off an' cut his

stripes away,

An' they're hangin' Danny Deever in the

mornin'.

"What makes the rear-rank breathe so 'ard?" said

Files-on-Parade.

"It's bitter cold, it's bitter cold," the Colour-Sergeant

said.

"What makes that front-rank man fall down?" said

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-onParade.

"'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 face;

Nine 'undred of 'is county an' the regiment's disgrace,

While they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'.

"What's that so black agin' the sun?" said Files-onParade.

"It's Danny fightin' 'ard for life," the Colour-Sergeant

said.

"What's that that whimpers over'ead?" said Files-onParade.

"It's Danny's soul that's passin' now," the ColourSergeant 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'.

TOMMY

I WENT into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit
to die,

I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:

O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";

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 'adn't none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me
in the stalls!

For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tom-
my, 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 troop-
ship'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

Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;

An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit

Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit. Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"

But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll,

The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,

O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.

We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,

But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you; An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints, Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;

While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an'

"Tommy, fall be'ind,"

But it's "Please to walk in front, sir," when
there's trouble in the wind,