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Arthur McBride Bob Dylan
I h[D]ad a first cousin called [G]Arthur McBr[D]ide ( .. Oh me & my cousin, one Arthur McBride)
He and [G]I took a st[D]roll down [Em]by the seas[G]ide
Se[D]eking good fortune and w[G]hat might bet[D]ide
It was j[D]ust as the d[G]ay was a'd[A]awnin'
A[D]fter restin' we both took a tramp
We met Sergeant Harper and Corporal Cramp
Besides the wee drummer who beat up the camp
[D] [G] [A] [] [D] []
With his row-dee-dow-dow in the morning
He says my young fellows if you will enlist
A guinea you quickly will have in your fist
Besides a crown for to kick up the dust
And drink the King's health in the morning
For a soldier he leads a very fine life
He 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 he always is decent and clean
In the finest of garments he's 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
You've only the lend of them as I suppose
And you dare not change them one night or you know
If you do you'll be flogged in the morning
And although we are single and free
We take great delight in our own company
And we have no desire strange countries to see
Although your offer is charming
And we have no desire to take your advance
All hazards and danger we barter on chance
and you'd have no scruples to send us to France
Where we would be shot without warning
And now says the sergeant, if I hear but one word
I'll instantly now will out with my sword
And into your bodies as strength will afford
So now my gay devils take warning
But Arthur and I we took the odds
We gave them no chance to launch out their swords
Whacking shillelaghs came over their heads
And paid them right smart in the morning
As for the wee drummer, we rifled his pow
And made a football of his row-do-dow-dow
Into the ocean to rock and to roll
And bade it a tedious returnin'
As for the old rapier that hung by his side
We flung it as far as we could in the tide
To the Devil I pitch you, says Arthur McBride
To temper your steel in the morning
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