Hands off o' the sons o' the Widow, Hands off o' the goods in 'er shop, For the Kings must come down an' the Emperors frown When the Widow at Windsor says "Stop"! (Poor beggars!—we're sent to say "Stop"!) From the Pole to the Tropics it runsTo the Lodge that we tile with the rank an' the file, An' open in form with the guns. (Poor beggars!-it's always they guns!) We 'ave 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor, It's safest to let 'er alone: For 'er sentries we stand by the sea an' the land (Poor beggars!-an' don't we get blown!) Take 'old o' the Wings o' the Mornin', An' flop round the earth till you're dead; But you won't get away from the tune that they play To the bloomin' old rag over'ead. (Poor beggars!-it's 'ot over'ead!) Then 'ere's to the sons o' the Widow, 'Ere's all they desire, an' if they require (Poor beggars!—they'll never see 'ome!) BELTS THERE was a row in Silver Street that's near to Dub lin Quay, Between an Irish regiment an' English cavalree; It started at Revelly an' it lasted on till dark: The first man dropped at Harrison's, the last forninst the Park. For it was:" Belts, belts, belts, an' that's one An' it was " Belts, belts, belts, an' that's done for you!" O buckle an' tongue Was the song that we sung From Harrison's down to the Park! There was a row in Silver Street-the regiments was out, They called us "Delhi Rebels," an' we answered "Threes about!" That drew them like a hornet's nest-we met them good an' large, The English at the double an' the Irish at the charge. Then it was:- ." Belts . . There was a row in Silver Street-an' I was in it too; We passed the time o' day, an' then the belts went whirraru! I misremember what occurred, but subsequint the storm A Freeman's Journal Supplemint was all my uniform. O it was:-"Belts . . There was a row in Silver Street-they sent the Polis there, The English were too drunk to know, the Irish didn't care; But when they grew impertinint we simultaneous rose, Till half o' them was Liffey mud an' half was tatthered clo'es. For it was:-" Belts There was a row in Silver Street-it might ha' raged till now, But some one drew his side-arm clear, an' nobody knew how; 'Twas Hogan took the point an' dropped; we saw the red blood run: An' so we all was murderers that started out in fun. While it was:-" Belts There was a row in Silver Street-but that put down the shine, Wid each man whisperin' to his next: "'Twas never work o' mine!" We went away like beaten dogs, an' down the street we bore him, The poor dumb corpse that couldn't tell the bhoys There was a row in Silver Street-it isn't over yet, For half of us are under guard wid punishments to get; 'Tis all a merricle to me as in the Clink I lie: There was a row in Silver Street-begod, I wonder why! But it was:-" Belts, belts, belts, an' that's one for you!" An' it was" Belts, belts, belts, an' that's done for you!" O buckle an' tongue Was the song that we sung From Harrison's down to the Park! THE YOUNG BRITISH SOLDIER WHEN the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East Now all you recruities what's drafted to-day, Fit, fit, fit for a soldier. .. First mind you steer clear o' the grog-sellers' huts, For they sell you Fixed Bay'nets that rots out your guts Ay, drink that 'ud eat the live steel from your buttsAn' it's bad for the young British soldier. Bad, bad, bad for the soldier . . . |