Arthur Mcbride acordes

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Oh, me and my cousin, one Arthur McBride,
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As we went a-walkin' down by the seaside,
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Mark now what followed and what did betide,
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For it bein' on Christmas mornin'
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Now, for recreation, we went on a tramp,
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And we met Sergeant Napper and Corporal Vamp
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And a little wee drummer intending to camp,
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For the day bein' pleasant and charmin'.

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"Good morning, good morning," the Sergeant he cried.
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"And the same to you, gentlemen," we did reply,
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Intending no harm but meant to pass by,
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For it bein' on Christmas mornin'
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"But," says he, "My fine fellows, if you will enlist,
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Ten guineas in gold I'll stick to your fist,
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And a crown in the bargain for to kick up the dust,
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And drink the king's health in the morning.

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"For a soldier, he leads a very fine life,
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And he always is blessed with a charming young wife,
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And he pays all his debts without sorrow or strife,
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And he always lives pleasant and charmin',
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And a soldier, he always is decent and clean,
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In the finest of clothing he's constantly seen.
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While other poor fellows go dirty and mean,
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And sup on thin gruel in the morning."
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"But," says Arthur, "I wouldn't be proud of your clothes,
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For you've only the lend of them, as I suppose,
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But you dare not change them one night, for you know
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If you do, you'll be flogged in the morning,
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And although that we're single and free,
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We take great delight in our own company,
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We have no desire strange places to see,
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Although that your offers are charming.
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"And we have no desire to take your advance,
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All hazards and dangers we barter on chance,
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For you'd have no scruples for to send us to France,
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Where we would get shot without warning,"
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"Oh no," says the Sergeant. "I'll have no such chat,
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And neither will I take it from snappy young brats,
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For if you insult me with one other word,
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I'll cut off your heads in the morning."

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And Arthur and I, we soon drew our hogs,
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And we scarce gave them time to draw their own blades
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When a trusty shillelagh came over their head
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And bid them take that as fair warning.
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And their old rusty rapiers that hung by their sides,
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We flung them as far as we could in the tide,
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"Now take them up, devils!" cried Arthur McBride,
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"And temper their edge in the mornin'!"

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And the little wee drummer, we flattened his bow,
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And we made a football of his rowdy-dow-dow,
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Threw it in the tide for to rock and to roll,
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And bade it a tedious returning,
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And we havin' no money, paid them off in cracks.
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We paid no respect to their two bloody backs,
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And we lathered them there like a pair of wet sacks,
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And left them for dead in the morning.

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And so, to conclude and to finish disputes,
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We obligingly asked if they wanted recruits,
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For we were the lads who would give them hard clouts
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And bid them look sharp in the mornin'.
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Oh, me and my cousin, one Arthur McBride,
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As we went a-walkin' down by the seaside,
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Mark now what followed and what did betide,
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For it bein' on Christmas mornin'