And we'll not stop long for trifles, we're the London Irish Rifles,
When we go to fight the Germans in the mornin'.
"An' the girls: oh it will grieve them when we take the train and leave them,
Oh! what tears the dears will weep when we are moving,
But it's just the old, old story, on the path that leads to Glory,
Sure we cannot halt for long to do our loving.
They'll see us with emotion all departing o'er the ocean,
And every maid a-weepin' for her lover;
'Good-bye' we'll hear them callin', while so many tears are fallin'
That they'd almost swamp the boat that takes us over.