| They in their black battalion go
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| Fit to weep, dressed to kill, to the chapel on the hill
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| Through the wind and the blistering snow
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| They in their black battalion go
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| Fit to weep, dressed to kill, to the chapel on the hill
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| Through the wind and the blistering snow
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| Unafraid, undisguised, to put pennies in his eyes
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| The twist of a grin, the whiskers on his chin
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| Hide the teeth of a giant, broken, yellow and defiant
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| His bones lay crossed, he’ll no be back
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| He arrived in screaming pink, now he’ll leave in silent black
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| Cheer up ye lousy cadgers, I’ll no be missed
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| I’ve given ye all the day off work & leave to hit the piss
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| So tart me up in finery & put me to the flame
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| Don’t plant me in the ground tho' for fear I’ll grow again!
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| I know each & every line on your chiselled ugly faces
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| Every red & bloated inch from noses down to laces
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| Your nervous ticks, your treats & tricks, your secrets & your lies
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| Oh if you could only see yourself through these old hollow eyes
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| You’d surely die!
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| Oh its farewell for now my lovelies
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| Goodbye to your taunts & your charms
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| To stout hearted fellows with tunes for the burning
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| To waltzing in sweet Lassies arms
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| I’m off on the blood red rattler
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| With these villainous slappers & clowns
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| With the coughing, the wheezing, the farting & sneezing
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| Malevolent ghosts & their hounds
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| As a choking cloud he rose
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| To suffocate the lamp, the air was growing damp
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| Oily black the river flowed
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| The plough-beasts went blind, fruit hung rotten on the vine
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| The holy ones prepare a sacrificial virgin
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| The need for sinners to repent was ne’er before so urgent
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| The tired & lame are goners, strong men have soiled their breeks
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| All the roads are cut & its been pissing down for weeks! |