In our barracks Roast Beef is a dream of romance,
And the man who enlists is condemned in advance,
To sing, “Blow the Boiled Beef of Old England,”
And “Blow that Old English Boiled Beef!”
If against civil broils barrack-rules still must preach,
And our troops rule the roast, but in figure of speech,
Then surely we’re bound our mess-bugles to teach
To play “Blow the Boiled Beef of Old England,”
And “Blow the Old English Boiled Beef!”
What’s the odds if at Bouilli the soldier looks blue?