作曲 : Samuel Lover
Oh, there's not a trade that's going worth showing or knowing,
Like that from glory growing for a bowld sojer boy;
Where right or left we go, sure you know, friend or foe,
Will have the hand or toe from the bowld sojer boy.
There's not a town we march thro' but ladies looking arch thro'
The window panes will search thro' the ranks to find their joy;
While up the street, each girl you meet, with look so sly, will cry, "My eye,
Oh, isn't he a darling? the bowld sojer boy!"
But when we get the route, how they pout and they shout,
While to the right about goes the bowld sojer boy;
'Tis then ladies fair, in despair, tear their hair.
But the divil a one I care, says the bowld sojer boy.
For the world is all before us, where the landladies adore us,
And ne'er refuse to score us, but chalk as up with joy;
We taste her tap, we tear her cap, oh, that's the chap for me, says she.
Oh, isn't he a darling? the bowld sojer boy!