Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Arthur McBride And The Sergeant, artist - Andy Irvine.
Date of issue: 03.03.2022
Song language: English
Arthur McBride And The Sergeant |
Oh, me and my cousin, one Arthur McBride |
As we went a-walking down by the seaside |
Mark now what followed and what did betide |
For it being on Christmas morning |
Now, for recreation, we went on a tramp |
And we met Sergeant Napper and Corporal Vamp |
And a little wee drummer intending to camp |
For the day being pleasant and charming |
«Good morning, good morning,» the Sergeant he cried |
«And the same to you, gentlemen,» we did reply |
Intending no harm but meant to pass by |
For it being on Christmas morning |
«But,» says he, «My fine fellows, if you will enlist |
Ten guineas in gold I’ll stick to your fist |
And a crown in the bargain for to kick up the dust |
And drink the king’s health in the morning |
«For a soldier, he leads a very fine life |
And he always is blessed with a charming young wife |
And he pays all his debts without sorrow or strife |
And he always lives pleasant and charming |
And a soldier, he always is decent and clean |
In the finest of clothing he’s constantly seen |
While other poor fellows go dirty and mean |
And sup on thin gruel in the morning.» |
«But,» says Arthur, «I wouldn’t be proud of your clothes |
For you’ve only the lend of them, as I suppose |
But you dare not change them one night, for you know |
If you do, you’ll be flogged in the morning |
And although that we’re single and free |
We take great delight in our own company |
We have no desire strange places to see |
Although that your offers are charming |
«And we have no desire to take your advance |
All hazards and dangers we barter on chance |
For you’d have no scruples for to send us to France |
Where we would get shot without warning,» |
«Oh no,» says the Sergeant. |
«I'll have no such chat |
And neither will I take it from snappy young brats |
For if you insult me with one other word |
I’ll cut off your heads in the morning.» |
And Arthur and I, we soon drew our hogs |
And we scarce gave them time to draw their own blades |
When a trusty shillelagh came over their head |
And bid them take that as fair warning |
And their old rusty rapiers that hung by their sides |
We flung them as far as we could in the tide |
«Now take them up, devils!» |
cried Arthur McBride |
«And temper their edge in the morning!» |
And the little wee drummer, we flattened his bow |
And we made a football of his rowdy-dow-dow |
Threw it in the tide for to rock and to roll |
And bade it a tedious returning |
And we having no money, paid them off in cracks |
We paid no respect to their two bloody backs |
And we lathered them there like a pair of wet sacks |
And left them for dead in the morning |
And so, to conclude and to finish disputes |
We obligingly asked if they wanted recruits |
For we were the lads who would give them hard clouts |
And bid them look sharp in the morning' |
Oh, me and my cousin, one Arthur McBride |
As we went a-walking down by the seaside |
Mark now what followed and what did betide |
For it being on Christmas morning |