Oh, me and my cousin, one Arthur McBride As we went a-walkin' down by the seaside Now mark what followed and what did betide For it bein' on Christmas mornin'. And for recreation we went on a tramp And we met Sergeant Harper and Corporal Ramp And the little wee drummer intendin' to camp For the day bein' pleasant and charmin'. "Good morning, good morning'', the Sergeant did cry "And the same to you gentlemen'', we did reply Intendin' no harm as we meant to pass by For it bein' on Christmas mornin'. But says he, "My fine fellows, if you will enlist It's ten guineas in gold, I will slip in your fists 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 An' he always is blessed with a charmin' young wife An' he pays all his debts without sorrow or strife An' he always lives pleasant and charmin'. An' a soldier he always is decent and clean In the finest of clothes he's constantly seen While other poor fellows look dirty and mean An' 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 And you dare not change them one night for you know If you do you'll be flogged in the mornin'. And although that we are single and free We take great delight in our own company And we have no desire strange faces 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 would 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 I never will take it from stouthy nor brat For if you insult me with one other word I'll cut off your heads in the morning.'' And then Arthur and I we soon drew our odds We scarcely gave them time to draw their own blades When a trusty shillelagh came over their heads And bade them take that as fair warnin.'' And their old rusty rapiers that hung by their sides We flung them as far as we could in the tide "Now take them out, devils'', cried Arthur McBride "And temper their edge in the morning''. And the little wee drummer, we flattened his pouch 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 returnin'. And we having no money, paid them off in cracks And we paid no respect to their two bloody backs But we lathered them there like a pair of wet sacks And left them for dead in the mornin'. 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 mornin'. Oh, me and my cousin, one Arthur McBride As we went a-walkin' down by the seaside Now mark what followed and what be betide For it bein' on Christmas mornin'.