Arthur McBride And The Sergeant - Andy Irvine, Paul Brady

Oh, me and my cousin, one Arthur McBride

As we went a-walking down by the seaside

Mark now what followed and what did betide

For it being on Christmas morning

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 being pleasant and charming

«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 being on Christmas morning

«But,» says he, «My fine fellows, if you will enlist

Ten guineas in gold I’ll stick to 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 strife

And he always lives pleasant and charming

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 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

Although 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 would 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 flattened 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 having 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 Arthur McBride

As we went a-walking down by the seaside

Mark now what followed and what did betide

For it being on Christmas morning