That Wully Henderson's been thereaboot
A'body kens.
Fegs-aye! Yon Weelum that's in Gairmanie,
He hadna reckoned
Wi' Sairgeant Weelum Henderson, an' wi'
The Forty-Second!

Yon day we lichtit on the shores o' France,
The lassies standin'
Trod ilk on ither's taes to get the chance
To see us landin';
The besoms! O they smiled to me--an' yet
They couldna' help it,
(Mysel', I just was thinkin' foo we'd get
The Gairmans skelpit.)

I'm wearied wi' them, for it's aye the same
Whaure'er we gang,
Oor Captain thinks we've got his een to blame,
But, man! he's wrang;
I winna say he's no as smairt a lad
As ye micht see
Atween twa Sawbaths--aye, he's no sae bad,
But he's no me!

Weel, let the limmers bide; their bonnie lips
Are fine an' reid;
But me an' Weelum's got to get to grips
Afore we're deid;
An' gin he thinks he hasn't met his match