He has licked the old soldier right well.
The weeping old soldier is beat, he is done, sir,
He may slip on his knapsack and follow the drum, sir,
Or march thro’ the country, and shoulder his gun, sir,
It’s a chance if he doesn’t go mad.
Through all the set speeches of Montague Chambers,
If he carried the day we should all be in danger,
They’d have made us all mad, and there’s nothing more stranger,
But into the madhouse we’d go!
Oh, the money, the money, they wanted the money,