Oh, me and my cousin, one Arthur McBride,
As we went walking down by the seaside,
Now mark what followed and what did betide,
For it being on Christmas morning.

Out for recreation, we went on a tramp,
We met Sergeant Napper and Corporal Cramp,
And a little wee drummer, intending to camp,
For the day being pleasant and charming.

"Good morning! Good morning!" the sergeant did cry,
"And same to you, gentlemen!" we did reply,
Intending no harm but meant to pass by,
For it being on Christmas morning.

Says he, "My fine fellows, if you will enlist,
It's ten guineas in gold I will slip in your fist,
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,
And is always is blessed with a charming young wife,
And he pays all his debts without sorrow or strife,
And always lives happy and charming."

"And a soldier is always is decent and clean,
In the finest of clothing is constantly seen,
While other poor fellows go dirty and mean,
And sup on thin gruel in the morning."

Says Arthur, "I wouldn't be proud of your clothes,
For you've only a 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 morning."

"And although that we are single and free,
We take great delight in our own company,
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 are barter on chance,
For you'd have no scruples for to send us to France,
Where we would get shot without warning."

"Ah, now!" says the sergeant, "I'll have no such chat,
And I neither will take it from spalpeen or brat,
For if you insult me with one other word,
I'll cut off your heads in the morning."

And Arthur and I, we soon drew our hods,
And we scarce gave them time for to draw their own blades,
When a trusty shillelagh came over their heads,
And bade take them as fair warning.

And for their old rusty rapiers that hung by their sides,
We flung them as far as we could in the tide,
"Now take them out, devil!" cried Arthur McBride,
"To temper your steel in the morning."

And the little wee drummer, we riffled his pow,
And we made a football of his row dey dow dow,
Now into the tide for to rock and to row,
And bade it a tedious returning.

And we, having no money, paid them off in cracks,
And we paid no respect to their two bloody backs,
For we lathered them there like a pair of wet sacks,
And left them for dead in the morning.

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 morning.

Oh, me and my cousin, one Arthur McBride,
As we went walking down by the seaside,
Now mark what followed and what did betide,
For it being on Christmas morning.