Troopin’

Troopin’, troopin’, troopin’ to the sea:

‘ Ere's September come again — the six-year men are free.

O leave the dead be'ind us, for they cannot come away

To where the ship's a-coalin’ up that takes us‘ ome to-day.

We're goin’‘ ome, we're goin’‘ ome,

Our ship is at the shore,

An’ you must pack your‘ aversack,

For we wo n't come back no more.

Ho, do n't you grieve for me,

My lovely Mary-Ann,

For I'll marry you yit on a fourp'ny bit

As a time-expired man.

The Malabar's in‘ arbour with the Jumner at‘ er tail,

An’ the time-expired's waitin’ of‘ is orders for to sail.

Ho! the weary waitin’ when on Khyber‘ ills we lay,

But the time-expired's waitin’ of‘ is orders‘ ome to-day.

They'll turn us out at Portsmouth wharf in cold an’ wet an’ rain,

All wearin’ Injian cotton kit, but we will not complain;

They'll kill us of pneumonia — for that's their little way —

But damn the chills and fever, men, we're goin’‘ ome to-day!

Troopin’, troopin’, winter's round again!

See the new draf's pourin’ in for the old campaign;

Ho, you poor recruities, but you've got to earn your pay —

What's the last from Lunnon, lads? We're goin’ there to-day.

Troopin’, troopin’, give another cheer —

‘ Ere's to English women an’ a quart of English beer.

The Colonel an’ the regiment an’ all who've got to stay,

Gawd's mercy strike‘ em gentle — Whoop! we're goin’‘ ome to-day.

We're goin’‘ ome, we're goin’‘ ome,

Our ship is at the shore,

An’ you must pack your‘ aversack,

For we wo n't come back no more.

Ho, do n't you grieve for me,

My lovely Mary-Ann,

For I'll marry you yit on a fourp'ny bit

As a time-expired man.