We went away like beaten dogs, an' down the

street we bore him,

The poor dumb corpse that couldn't tell the bhoys

were sorry for him.

When it was :—' Belts . .

There was a row in Silver Street-it isn't over

yet,

For half of us are under guard wid punishments

to get;

'Tis all a merricle to me as in the Clink I lie :

There was a row in Silver Street-begod, I

wonder why!

But it was 'Belts, belts, belts, an' that's

one for you!'

An' it was 'Belts, belts, belts, an' that's

done for you!'

O buckie an' tongue

Was the song that we sung

From Harrison's down to the Park!

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, An' 'e wonders because 'e is frequent deceased Ere 'e's fit for to serve as a soldier.

Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,

Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,

Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,

So-oldier of the Queen ?

Now all you recruities what's drafted to-day,
You shut up your rag-box an' 'ark to my lay,
An' I'll sing you a soldier as far as I may:
A soldier what's fit for a soldier.

Fit, fit, fit for a soldier . . .

First mind you steer clear o' the grog-sellers' huts, For they sell you Fixed Bay'nets that rots out your guts

Ay, drink that 'ud eat the live steel from your

butts

An' it's bad for the young British Soldier.

Bad, bad, bad for the soldier . . .

When the cholera comes-as it will past a doubt-
Keep out of the wet and don't go on the shout,
For the sickness gets in as the liquor dies out,
An' it crumples the young British soldier.
Crum-, crum-, crumples the soldier...

But the worst o' your foes is the sun over’ead:
You must wear your 'elmet for all that is said:
If'e finds you uncovered 'e'll knock you down

dead,

An' you'll die like a fool of a soldier.

Fool, fool, fool of a soldier . . .

If you're cast for fatigue by a sergeant unkind,

Don't grouse like a woman nor crack on nor blind;
Be handy and civil, and then you will find

That it's beer for the young British soldier.
Beer, beer, beer for the soldier . . .

Now, if you must marry, take care she is oldA troop-sergeant's widow's the nicest I'm told, For beauty won't help if your rations is cold, Nor love ain't enough for a soldier.

'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,

An' you're shut o' the curse of a soldier.

Curse, curse, curse of a soldier

When first under fire an' you're wishful to

duck,

Don't look nor take 'eed at the man that is

struck,

Be thankful you're livin', and trust to your luck And march to your front like a soldier.

Front, front, front like a soldier . . .

When 'arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch, Don't call your Martini a cross-eyed old bitch; She's human as you are-you treat her as sich,

An' she'll fight for the young British soldier.

Fight, fight, fight for the soldier

When shakin' their bustles like ladies so fine,

The guns o' the enemy wheel into line,

Shoot low at the limbers an' don't mind the shine,

For noise never startles the soldier.

Start-, start-, startles the soldier