20
BALLADS OF BATTLE
And me throat was dry and the night was damp,
And the rum was raw—and red was the lamp!—
And—Billy, me boy, ye'r a bit o' a scamp,
That's the truth to tell—tho' I sez it mysel'.
And the rum was raw—and red was the lamp!—
And—Billy, me boy, ye'r a bit o' a scamp,
That's the truth to tell—tho' I sez it mysel'.
What's worritin' me isn't fear that they'll miss
Me out o' the ranks in the realms o' bliss;
It ain't hope o' Heaven, nor horror o' Hell,
But just breakin' the promise, 'twixt God and mysel',
Made at Noove Chapelle.
Me out o' the ranks in the realms o' bliss;
It ain't hope o' Heaven, nor horror o' Hell,
But just breakin' the promise, 'twixt God and mysel',
Made at Noove Chapelle.
Well, there's always a way that is open to men
When they gets the knock-out—that's get up again;
And, sure now, ould Satan ain't yet counted ten!
I'm game for another good bout wi' mysel'―
As at Noove Chapelle.
When they gets the knock-out—that's get up again;
And, sure now, ould Satan ain't yet counted ten!
I'm game for another good bout wi' mysel'―
As at Noove Chapelle.
