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BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS

To T. A.

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-onParade.

"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'.

DANNY DEEVER

"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'.

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