Verses 1889-1896 | Page 5

I have made for you a song,
And it may be right or wrong,
But only
you can tell me if it's true;
I have tried for to explain
Both your pleasure and your pain,
And,
Thomas, here's my best respects to you!
O there'll surely come a day
When they'll give you all your pay,

And treat you as a Christian ought to do;
So, until that day comes round,
Heaven keep you safe and sound,

And, Thomas, here's my best respects to you!
R. K.
DANNY DEEVER
"What are the bugles blowin' for?" said Files-on-Parade.
"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 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-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 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-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'.
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' "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 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,
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: We'll wait
for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the
cook-room slops, but prove it to our face The Widow's Uniform is not
the soldier-man's disgrace.

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