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Arthur McBride

anonimo
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La versione contenuta nelle "Songs of Northeast" di Gavin Greig,...
ARTHUR McBRIDE AND THE SEARGEANT

I had a first cousin called Arthur McBride
he and I took a stroll down by the seaside
a seeking good fortune and what might the tide
it was just as the day was a dawning
And after we rested we went on a tramp
we met Seargeant Napper and Corporal Cramp
and a little wee drummer who beat up our camp
with his rowdy dou dou in the morning

He said my young fellows if you will enlist
a guinea you quickly shall have in your fist
and besides a crown for to kick up the dust
and drink the King's health in the morning
but had we been such fools as to take the advance
the wee bit of money we'd have to run chance
do you think it no scuples for to send us to France
where we would be killed in the morning

He says my young fellows if I hear but one word
instantly now will out with my sword
and into your bodies as strength might afford
so now me gay devils take warning
but Arthur and I we soon took the odds
and we gave them no chance for to draw out their swords
our wacking shillelaghs came over their heads
and paid them right smart in the morning

As for the wee drummer we rifled his pouch
and we made a football of his rowdy dou dou
and into the ocean for to rock and to roll and
barring the day its returning
as for the ould rapier that hung by his side
we flung as far as we could in the tide
To the divil I pitch you says Arthur McBride
to temper your edge in the morning.
ARTHUR McBRIDE

I once had a comrade named Arthur McBride
as we were a-walking along the seaside
As we were a-walking to bathe in the tide
It was on a fine summer's morning

As we were awalking along the sea sand
We met Sergeant Napier and Corporal O'Hand
And a little wee drummer called Patrick McDan
They were going to the fair in the morning

O Arthur, my lad, if you would but list
Five guineas in gold I would clap in your fist
Besides five shilling to kick up the dust
And drink the king's health in the morning

Na faith, says Arthur, I ken it mysel'
I winna gae wi you to rin at your tail
I winna gae wi you to rin at your tail
And be at your command in the morning

O, if you go with us, I'm sure you'll go clean
We're not like poor fellows goes dirty and mean
We're not like poor fellows goes dirty and mean
Gets nothing but gruel in the morning

Ye needna be chattin' aboot your fine pay
As you go a-marchin' and trampin' away
For all that ye hae is a shilling a day
To get you some chat in the morning

Ye needna be chattin' aboot your fine clothes
Ye've only the len o them as I suppose
Ye daurna sell them in spite o your nose
Or you will get flogged in the morning

I'm blessed said the sergeant, if I'll take more of that
From you or from any young cow-feeding brat
And if you tip me any more of your chat
I will run you thru in the morning

But before they time to draw out their blades
Our whacking shillelaghs came over their heads
We soon let them see that we were their blades
That could temper their pows in the morning

As for the wee drummer we tempered his pow
And made a football o his row-didi-dow
And kicket it in to the ocean to row
And take a bit bathe in the morning

And as for the weapons that hung by their sides
We took them and pitched them far out in the tide
May the deil gae wi them, said Arthur McBride
If ever we see them returning.


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