"What are the bugles blowin′ for?" said Files-on-Parade. "To turn you out, to turn you out", the Colour-Sergeant said. "What makes you look so white, so white?" said Files-on-Parade. "I′m dreadin′ what I′ve got to watch", the Colour-Sergeant said. For they′re hangin′ Danny Deever, you can hear the Dead March play, The Regiment′s in ′ollow square, they′re hangin′ him to-day; They′ve taken of his buttons off an′ cut his stripes away, An′ they′re hangin′ Danny Deever in the mornin′. "What makes the rear-rank breathe so ′ard?" said Files-on-Parade. "It′s bitter cold, it′s bitter cold", the Colour-Sergeant said. "What makes that front-rank man fall down?" said Files-on-Parade. "A touch o′ sun, a touch o′ sun", the Colour-Sergeant said. They are hangin′ Danny Deever, they are marchin′ of ′im round, They ′ave ′alted Danny Deever by ′is coffin on the ground; An′ ′e′ll swing in ′arf a minute for a sneakin′ shootin′ hound, O they′re hangin′ Danny Deever in the mornin′! "′Is cot was right-′and cot to mine", said Files-on-Parade. "′E′s sleepin′ out an′ far to-night", the Colour-Sergeant said. "I′ve drunk ′is beer a score o′ times", said Files-on-Parade. "′E′s drinkin′ bitter beer alone", the Colour-Sergeant said. They are hangin′ Danny Deever, you must mark ′im to ′is place, For ′e shot a comrade sleepin′, you must look ′im in the face; Nine ′undred of ′is county an′ the Regiment′s disgrace, While they′re hangin′ Danny Deever in the mornin′. "What′s that so black agin′ the sun?" said Files-on-Parade. "It′s Danny fightin′ ′ard for life", the Colour-Sergeant said. "What′s that that whimpers over′ead?" said Files-on-Parade. "It′s Danny′s soul that′s passin′ now", the Colour-Sergeant said. For they′re done with Danny Deever, you can ′ear the quickstep play, The Regiment′s in column, an′ they′re marchin′ us away; Ho! the young recruits are shakin′, an′ they′ll want their beer to-day, After hangin′ Danny Deever in the mornin′.
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