When I was five my mother died, at twelve I left my home,
At eighteen years old I took the shilling, my career had begun,
And for fifteen years I've slogged on foot, as a soldier of the Crown,
Now I curse the unemployment, made me leave old Belfast town.

As a soldier of the foot brigade, I've been to foreign parts,
I have seen the sun rise in the east, broke manys the girlies' hearts,
And I've left them on the streets to mourn, while I march off to play,
My part in keeping riots down, at two pounds ten a day.

I'd a mate, was killed in Germany, in 1965,
It's a man's life in the army, for those that stay alive,
He was crushed below a lorry, as he staggered down the street,
Cheap drink was never mentioned on the army report sheet.

And they've used me as a black leg when workers go on strike,
Sometimes I think desertion should be a squaddies right,
Well the sergeant says, "It's bolshie now to dream of civvy life",
So they've sent me o'er to Belfast town, to teach me wrong from right.

Well it's right to be a soldier, in the military role,
But it's wrong to be a civvy chap, cos you might be on the dole,
And it's right to earn your living as a soldier of the Crown,
To be unemployed since leaving school is wrong in Belfast town.

So I think of the queen of England and I'm glad that I'm employed,
Pumping CS gas at children till their parents get annoyed,
I'm glad I joined the army now, to teach me wrong from right,
To hell with your unemployment now, like me you'll have to fight.