I done my six years’ service. ’Er Majesty sez: “Good-day—
You’ll please to come when you’re rung for, an’ ’ere’s your ’ole back-pay;
An’ fourpence a day for baccy—an’ bloomin’ gen’rous, too;
An’ now you can make your fortune—the same as your orf’cers do.”

A man o’ four-an’-twenty that ’asn’t learned of a trade—
Beside “Reserve” agin’ him—’e’d better be never made.
I tried my luck for a quarter, an’ that was enough for me,
An’ I thought of ’Er Majesty’s barricks, an’ I thought I’d go an’ see.

The sergeant arst no questions, but ’e winked the other eye,
’E sez to me, “’Shun!” an’ I shunted, the same as in days gone by;
For ’e saw the set o’ my shoulders, an’ I couldn’t ’elp ’oldin’ straight
When me an’ the other rookies come under the barrick-gate.

I took my bath, an’ I wallered—for, Gawd, I needed it so!
I smelt the smell o’ the barricks, I ’eard the bugles go.
I ’eard the feet on the gravel—the feet o’ the men what drill—
An’ I sez to my flutterin’ ’eart-strings, I sez to ’em, “Peace, be still!”

I carried my slops to the tailor; I sez to ’im, “None o’ your lip!
You tight ’em over the shoulders, an’ loose ’em over the ’ip,
For the set o’ the tunic’s ’orrid.” An’ ’e sez to me, “Strike me dead,
But I thought you was used to the business!” an’ so ’e done what I said.

Next week I’ll ’ave ’em fitted; I’ll buy me a swagger-cane;
They’ll let me free o’ the barricks to walk on the Hoe again
In the name o’ William Parsons, that used to be Edward Clay,
An’—any pore beggar that wants it can draw my fourpence a day!