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  Bob Dylan Lyrics | Bob Dylan - ARTHUR McBRIDE Lyrics

Bob Dylan - ARTHUR McBRIDE Lyrics


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  Oh, me and my cousin, one Arthur McBride
  As we went a-walkin' down by the seaside
  Mark know what followed and what did betide
  For it bein' on Christmas mornin'
  Now, for recreation, we went on a tramp
  And we met Sergeant Napper and Corporal Vamp
  And a little wee drummer intending to camp
  For the day bein' pleasant and charming.
  
  "Good morning, good morning," the sergeant he cried
  "And the same to you gentleman," we did reply
  Intending no harm but means to pass by
  For it bein' on Christmas morning
  "But," says he, "My fine fellows, if you will enlist
  Ten guineas in gold I'll stick 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 he always is blessed with a charming young wife
  And he pays all his debts without sorrow or strike
  And he always lives pleasant and charmin'
  And a soldier he always is decent and clean
  In the finest of clothing he's constantly seen
  While other poor fellows go dirty and mean
  And sup on thin gruel in the morning".
  
  "But," says Arthur, "I wouldn't be proud of your clothes
  For you've only the lend of them, as I suppose
  But you're dare not change them one night, for you know
  If you do, you'll be flogged in the morning
  And although that we're single and free
  We take great delight in our own company
  We have no desire strange places to see
  Althoug that your offers are charming.
  
  "And we have no desire to take your advance
  All hazards and dangers we barter on chance
  For you'd have no scruples for to send us to France
  Where we could get shot without warning"
  "Oh no," says the Sergeant, "I'll have no such chat
  And neither will I take it from snappy young brats
  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 hogs
  And we scarce gave them time to draw their own blades
  When a trusty shillelagh came over their head
  And bid them take that as fair warning
  And their old rusty rapiers that hung by their sides
  We flung them as far as we could in the tide
  "Now take them up, devils !" cried Arthur McBride
  "And temper their edge in the morning!".
  
  And the little wee drummer, we flattered his bow
  And we made a football of his rowdy-dow-dow
  Threw it in the tide for to rock and to roll
  And bade it a tedious returning
  And we havin' no money, paid them off in cracks
  We paid no respect to their two bloody backs
  And 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 Artur McBride
  As we went a-walkin' down by the seaside
  Mark now what followed and what did betide
  For it bein' on Christmas morning.
  
  

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