As I was going down the street, feeling fine and larky, oh,
A recruiting sergeant said to me, "Now you'd look fine in khaki, oh!
The King he is need of men, come read his proclamation,
How a life in Flanders for ya then, will be a fine vacation, oh.

"That may be so", says I to him, "But tell me, Sergeant dearie, oh,
If I'd the pack stuck on me back, do you think I'd look fine and cheery, oh?
You'd make me train and drill until ya had me one of French's, oh,
Well, it may be warm in Flanders, but it's draughty in the trenches, oh."

The sergeant swung his wee bit cane, his smile was most provoking, oh,
He twiddled and twiddled his wee moustache, says he, "I know you're joking, oh,
The sandbags are so high and dry, the wind you'd ne'er feel blowing, oh"
But I winked at a coolean passing by and says I, "What if it's snowing, oh?"

"Yet hail or rain or wind or snow, we're not going out to Flanders, oh,
There's fighting in Dublin to be done, let your sergeants and commanders go,
Let Englishmen for England fight, tis just about time they started, oh",
I wished the sergeant a jolly good night, and there and then we parted, oh.