Hiya Dealer,
Nice post. Welcome back.
Somthing to read for the whatevers:-
I went into a public'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no redcoats here".
The girls be'ind the bar, they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:
O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy go away";
But it's "Thank you, Mr Atkins", when the band begins to play-
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it's "Thank you, Mr Atkins", when the band begins to play.
I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord!, they'll shove me in the stalls!
For it's Tommy this an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy wait outside",
But it's "Special Train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide-
The trooper's on the tide my boys, the trooper's on the tide,
O it's "Special Train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.
Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.
Then it's Tommy this an' Tommy that an' "Tommy, ow's yr soul?"
But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes when the drums begin to roll-
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.
We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy psints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;
While it's Tommy this and Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind",
But it's "Please to walk in front, sir" when there's trouble in the wind-
O it's "Please to walk in front, sir" when there's trouble in the wind.
You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:
We'll wait for extry rations if you'll treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cookroom slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow's uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.
For it's Tommy this and Tommy that, an' "Chuck 'im out, the brute!"
But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot;
An' it's Tommy this and Tommy that, an' anything you please;
An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool-you bet that Tommy sees!
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