| |
| “WHAT are the bugles blowin’ for?” said Files-on-Parade. | |
| “To turn you out, to turn you out,” the Colour-Sergeant said. | |
| “What makes you look so white, so white?” said Files-on-Parade. | |
| “I’m dreadin’ what I’ve got to watch,” the Colour-Sergeant said. | |
| For they’re hangin’ Danny Deever, you can hear the Dead March play, | 5 |
| The regiment’s in ’ollow square—they’re hangin’ him to-day; | |
| They’ve taken of his buttons off an’ cut his stripes away, | |
| An’ they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’. | |
| |
| “What makes the rear-rank breathe so ’ard?” said Files-on-Parade. | |
| “It’s bitter cold, it’s bitter cold,” the Colour-Sergeant said. | 10 |
| “What makes that front-rank man fall down?” said Files-on-Parade. | |
| “A touch o’ sun, a touch o’ sun,” the Colour-Sergeant said. | |
| They are hangin’ Danny Deever, they are marchin’ of ’im round, | |
| They ’ave ’alted Danny Deever by ’is coffin on the ground; | |
| An’ ’e’ll swing in ’arf a minute for a sneakin’ shootin’ hound— | 15 |
| O they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’! | |
| |
| “’Is cot was right-’and cot to mine,” said Files-on-Parade. | |
| “’E’s sleepin’ out an’ far to-night,” the Colour-Sergeant said. | |
| “I’ve drunk ’is beer a score o’ times,” said Files-on-Parade. | |
| “’E’s drinkin’ bitter beer alone,” the Colour-Sergeant said. | 20 |
| They are hangin’ Danny Deever, you must mark ’im to ’is place, | |
| For ’e shot a comrade sleepin’—you must look ’im in the face; | |
| Nine ’undred of ’is county an’ the Regiment’s disgrace, | |
| While they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’. | |
| |
| “What’s that so black agin the sun?” said Files-on-Parade. | 25 |
| “It’s Danny fightin’ ’ard for life,” the Colour-Sergeant said. | |
| “What’s that that whimpers over’ead?” said Files-on-Parade. | |
| “It’s Danny’s soul that’s passin’ now,” the Colour-Sergeant said. | |
| For they’re done with Danny Deever, you can ’ear the quickstep play, | |
| The regiment’s in column, an’ they’re marchin’ us away; | 30 |
| Ho! the young recruits are shakin’, an’ they’ll want their beer to-day, | |
| After hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’! | |
| |
