We fought 'bout a dog—last week it were—
No more than a round or two;
But I strook 'im cruel 'ard, an' I wish I 'adn't now,
Which is just what a man can't do.
'E was all that I 'ad in the way of a friend,
An' I've 'ad to find one new;
But I'd give my pay an' stripe for to get the beggar back,
Which it's just too late to do.
So it's knock out your pipes an' follow me!
An' it's finish off your swipes an' follow me!
Oh, 'ark to the fifes a-crawlin'!
Follow me—follow me 'ome!
Take 'im away! 'E's gone where the best men go.
Take 'im away! An' the gun-wheels turnin' slow.
Take 'im away! There's more from the place 'e come.
Take 'im away, with the limber an' the drum.
For it's "Three rounds blank" an' follow me,
An' it's "Thirteen rank" an' follow me;
Oh, passin' the love o' women,
Follow me—follow me 'ome!
THE SERGEANT'S WEDDIN'.
'E was warned agin' 'er—
That's what made 'im look;
She was warned agin' 'im—
That is why she took.
Wouldn't 'ear no reason,
Went an' done it blind;
We know all about 'em,
They've got all to find!
Cheer for the Sergeant's weddin'—
Give 'em one cheer more!
Gray gun-'orses in the lando,
An' a rogue is married to, etc.