And the pack, pouch, and cross-belts, his breathing that check,
And the barrack-room reeking like any slave-deck,
Keep up the Boiled Beef of Old England.
Keep up the Old English Boiled Beef.
At huge cost let recruits still be drilled, dressed, and taught,
To have them die off twice as fast as they ought,
Let General Routine still set reason at nought,
And sing, “Oh, the Boiled Beef of Old England,”
And “Oh, the Old English Boiled Beef!”
By all means let our soldiers be served, in the way,