THE SOLDIER BAND
My mother and my father are both having tea to drink;
Inside the pastry shop they saw me last.
They don't know where I've got to, for I've runned from where they think;
I heard the soldier band go marching past.
Oh, tiddley—om—ti—pomp they go! Stamp soldier, stamp!
A cab-horse jumped into the air and bumped against a lamp.
Ta—rah—ra—rah, the trumpets go telling the boys to come,
And always and all the time, bang goes the drum.
Look at their lovely leather legs! The big brass things they blow!
I don't care where I walk or who I meet,
I'm following the band away to where the musics grow,
I'm hitting my boots heavy on the street.
For I must find the music man that lets them play so loud,
And find the funny place where soldiers go
To fill their trumpets with the noise they blow among the crowd—
It's not a tea and pastry shop I know.
WHISPER!
Anyone seen Micky here?
Him that lives above the ceiling.
Sometimes far and sometimes near,
Boys have heard his little squealing.
Oh, I must find the music place, and stamp along the track,
And try to let no trams run over me;
If I'm a long, long way from home, the band will play me back,
That's if I'm good and never spill my tea.