| I was brought up in Yorkshire and when I was sixteen
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| Oh I ran away to London and a soldier I became
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| With me fine cap and feather, likewise me rattling drum
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| They learned me to play upon the rub-a-dub-a-dum
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| With me gentle waist so slender, me fingers long and small
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| And to play upon the rub-a-dub the best of them all
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| And so many were the pranks that I saw among the french
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| And so boldly did I fight me boys although I’m but a wench
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| And in buttoning up me trousers so often have I smiled
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| To think I lay with a thousand men and a maiden all the while
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| And they never found my secret out until this very hour
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| When they sent me off to London to keep sentry o’er the Tower
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| When a young girl fell in love with me and she found that I was a maid
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| She went up to me officer me secret she betrayed
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| He unbuttoned then my red tunic and he found that it was true
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| ‘It's a shame, he says, ‘to lose a pretty drummer boy like you
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| So now I must return to me mum and dad at home
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| And along with me bold comrades it’s no longer can I roam |