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T’other day when the chaplain was
preaching,
Behind him I curiously slunk,
And while he us our duty was teaching
As how we should never get drunk,
I tipp’d him a can and he twigg’d it,
And it soon set his rev’rence agog;
So he swigg’d and Dick swigg’d,
And Ben swigg’d and I swigg’d,
And all of us swigg’d it,
And we swore there was nothing like
grog.
Then trust me there’s nothing like
drinking,
So pleasant on this side the grave,
It keeps the unhappy from thinking,
And makes e’en more valiant the brave
As for me, since the moment I swigg’d
it,
The good stuff has so set me agog.
That sick or well, late or early,
Wind foully or fairly,
I’ve constantly swigg’d it,
And dem’me there’s nothing like grog.
