You are called a vile Rebel, and treated as one;
But here we’ve a barrack in every room,
In lieu of a gun, we disport with a broom.
Chorus
We’re healthy within, but there’s danger without,
For wherever you turn there’s a gun at your snout,
But here we’re as safe as a bug in a rug,
And the adage is false, “There’s death in a jug.”
Chorus
But heed not the twaddle of tyrants and knaves;