The "Charge o' the Light Brigade," CHARLIE? Well, mugs will keep spouting it still;
But wot is it to me and my mates, treadles loose, and a-chargin' down 'ill?
Dash, dust-clouds, wheel-whizz, whistles, squeakers, our 'owls, women's shrieks, and men's swears!
Oh, I tell yer it's 'Ades let loose, or all Babel a busting down-stairs.
Quiet slipping along in a line, like a blooming girl's school on the trot,
May suit the swell Club-men, my boy, but it isn't my form by a lot.
Don't I jest discumfuddle the donas, and bosh the old buffers as prowl
Along green country roads at their ease, till they're scared by my squeak, or my 'owl?
My "alarm" is a caution I tell yer; it sounds like some shrill old macaw,
Wot's bin blowed up with dynamite sudden; it gives yer a twist in the jaw,