The Grand Old Boy to the wars will go,
In the Jingoes’ ranks you’ll find him;
With Dizzy’s sword he will strike a blow,
And his own harp sling behind him.
“Land of the Sphinx,” this warrior Bard
Sings out, “Though tricks they play thee,
One Grand Old Boy thy rights shall guard;
By Jove, he won’t betray thee!”
So the Grand Old Boy takest rain from town—
With his harp the seat tucked under;