| Oh hark, the drums do beat, my love, no longer can we stay
|
| The bugle horns are sounding clear, and we must march away
|
| We’re ordered down to Portsmouth, and it’s many’s the weary mile
|
| To join the British Army on the banks of the Nile
|
| Oh Johnny, dearest Johnny, don’t leave me here to mourn
|
| Don’t make me curse and rue the day that ever I was born
|
| For the parting of our love would be like parting with my life
|
| I’ll go with you, dear Johnny, and I will be your wife
|
| Oh my Nancy, dearest Nancy, that’s a thing that can’t be so
|
| The colonel, he has ordered no woman there should go
|
| We must forsake our own sweethearts, likewise our native soil
|
| To fight the German soldiers on the banks of the Nile
|
| But I’ll cut off my yellow hair and go along with you
|
| I’ll dress myself in uniform and I’ll see Egypt, too
|
| I’ll march beneath your banner while fortune, it do smile
|
| And we’ll comfort one another on the banks of the Nile
|
| But your waist, it is too slender, love, your fingers, they
|
| are too small
|
| And the sultry suns of Egypt your rosy cheeks would spoil
|
| Where the cannons, they do rattle, and the bullets, they do fly
|
| And the silver trumpets sound so loud to hide the dismal cries
|
| Oh cursed be those cruel wars that ever they began
|
| For they have robbed old Ireland of many’s the gallant man
|
| They took from us our own sweethearts while their bodies,
|
| they feed the lions
|
| On the dry and sandy deserts which are the banks of the Nile |