Oh, me and my cousin, one Arthur McBride As we went a-walkin' down by the seaside Mark know 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 charming.
"Good morning, good morning," the sergeant he cried "And the same to you gentleman," we did reply Intending no harm but means to pass by For it bein' on Christmas morning "But," says he, "My fine fellows, if you will enlist Ten guineas in gold I'll stick in your fist And a crown in the bargain for to kick up the dust And drink the king's health in the morning.
"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 strike And he always lives pleasant and charmin' And a soldier he always is decent and clean In the finest of clothing he's constantly seen While other poor fellows go dirty and mean And sup on thin gruel in the morning".
"But," says Arthur, "I wouldn't be proud of your clothes For you've only the lend of them, as I suppose But you're dare not change them one night, for you know If you do, you'll be flogged in the morning And although that we're single and free We take great delight in our own company We have no desire strange places to see Althoug that your offers are charming.
"And we have no desire to take your advance All hazards and dangers we barter on chance For you'd have no scruples for to send us to France Where we could get shot without warning" "Oh no," says the Sergeant, "I'll have no such chat And neither will I take it from snappy young brats For if you insult me with one other word I'll cut off your heads in the morning". 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 morning!".
And the little wee drummer, we flattered his bow And we made a football of his rowdy-dow-dow Threw it in the tide for to rock and to roll And bade it a tedious returning And we havin' no money, paid them off in cracks We paid no respect to their two bloody backs And we lathered them there like a pair of wet sacks And left them for dead in the morning.
And so, to conclude and to finish disputes We obligingly asked if they wanted recruits For we were the lads who would give them hard clouts And bid them look sharp in the morning.
Oh, me and my cousin, one Artur McBride As we went a-walkin' down by the seaside Mark now what followed and what did betide For it bein' on Christmas morning.