I

My brave brother troopers, slap-up in the abode,
Come listen unto me while I chant about "the Road";
Oh prick up your list'ners if you are fond of fun [1]
A bridle-cull's the hero, and his little pop-gun. [2]
Fal, de, rol! lal! lal! la!

II

One morning early he went, this rollicking blade, [3]
To pick the blunt up, and he met a nice young maid; [4]
"I'll not rob you," said he, "and so you needn't bunk: [5]
But she lammas'd off in style, of his pop-gun afunk [6]
Fal, de, rol! lal! lal! la!"

III

Then up came a stage-coach, and thus the gloque did say, [7]
I'm sorry for to stop you, but you must hear my lay;
"Come, stand and deliver! if not, sure as the sun,
Your journey I will stop with my little pop-gun."
Fal, de, rol! lol! lol!

IV

"Tis by these little lays a High-padsman he thrives, [8]
"Oh take all our rhino, but pray spare our lives!" [9]
Cry the passengers who anxious all are for to run,
Frightened nigh to death by his little pop-gun."