Now blaze away with a deafening noise,
And a shout goes up from our gallant boys.
Rataplan! Rataplan! Rataplan!
This is the life for every true man.
Come with me now to the picket! Come!
Follow the drum, the drum, the drum!
That's a sharpshooter's rifle we hear,
And that was the bullet that sang so near;
There's another rifle, that shrill, sharp sound;
And yonder's a wounded man on the ground,