Arthur Mcbride
1. oh, me and my cousin, one arthur mcbride,
As we went a-walkin down by the seaside,
Mark now what followed and what did betide,
For it bein on christmas mornin
Now, for recreation, we went on a tramp,
And we met sergeant napper and corporal vamp
And a little wee drummer intending to camp,
For the day bein pleasant and charmin.
2. good morning, good morning, the sergeant he cried.
And the same to you, gentlemen, we did reply,
Intending no harm but meant to pass by,
For it bein on christmas mornin
But, says he, my fine fellows, if you will enlist,
Ten guineas in gold Ill stick to your fist,
And a crown in the bargain for to kick up the dust,
And drink the kings health in the morning.
3. for a soldier, he leads a very fine life,
And he always is blessed with a charming young wife,
And he pays all his debts without sorrow or strife,
And he always lives pleasant and charmin,
And a soldier, he always is decent and clean,
In the finest of clothing hes constantly seen.
While other poor fellows go dirty and mean,
And sup on thin gruel in the morning.
Instrumental
4. but, says arthur, I wouldnt be proud of your clothes,
For youve only the lend of them, as I suppose,
But you dare not change them one night, for you know
If you do, youll be flogged in the morning,
And although that were single and free,
We take great delight in our own company,
We have no desire strange places to see,
Although that your offers are charming.
5. and we have no desire to take your advance,
All hazards and dangers we barter on chance,
For youd have no scruples for to send us to france,
Where we would get shot without warning,
Oh no, says the sergeant. Ill have no such chat,
And neither will I take it from snappy young brats,
For if you insult me with one other word,
Ill cut off your heads in the morning.
6. and arthur and i, we soon drew our hogs,
And we scarce gave them time to draw their own blades
When a trusty shillelagh came over their head
And bid them take that as fair warning.
And their old rusty rapiers that hung by their sides,
We flung them as far as we could in the tide,
Now take them up, devils! cried arthur mcbride,
And temper their edge in the mornin!
7. and the little wee drummer, we flattened his bow,
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song performed by Bob Dylan
Added by Lucian Velea
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