An' 'e sweats like a Jolly—'er Majesty's Jolly—soldier an' sailor too!
For there isn't a job on the top o' the earth the beggar don't know—nor do!
You can leave 'im at night on a bald man's 'ead to paddle 'is own canoe;
'E's a sort of a bloomin' cosmopolot—soldier an' sailor too.
We've fought 'em on trooper, we've fought em in dock, an' drunk with 'em in betweens,
When they called us the sea-sick scull'ry maids, an' we called 'em the Ass Marines;
But when we was down for a double fatigue, from Woolwich to Bernardmyo,
We sent for the Jollies—'er Majesty's Jollies—soldier an' sailor too!
They think for 'emselves, an they steal for 'emselves, an' they never ask what's to do,
But they're camped an fed an' they're up an' fed before our bugle's blew.