Troopin′, troopin′, troopin′ to the sea: ′Ere′s September come again, the six-year men are free. O leave the dead be′ind us, for they cannot come away To where the ship′s a-coalin′ up that takes us ′ome to-day. We′re goin′ ′ome, we′re goin′ ′ome, Our ship is at the shore, An′ you must pack your ′aversack, For we won′t come back no more. Ho, don′t you grieve for me, My lovely Mary-Ann, For I′ll marry you yit on a fourp′ny bit As a time-expired man. The Malabar′s in ′arbour with the ~Jumner~ at ′er tail, An′ the time-expired′s waitin′ of ′is orders for to sail. Ho! the weary waitin′ when on Khyber ′ills we lay, But the time-expired′s waitin′ of ′is orders ′ome to-day. They′ll turn us out at Portsmouth wharf in cold an′ wet an′ rain, All wearin′ Injian cotton kit, but we will not complain; They′ll kill us of pneumonia, for that′s their little way, But damn the chills and fever, men, we′re goin′ ′ome to-day! Troopin′, troopin′, winter′s round again! See the new draf′s pourin′ in for the old campaign; Ho, you poor recruities, but you′ve got to earn your pay, What′s the last from Lunnon, lads? We′re goin′ there to-day. Troopin′, troopin′, give another cheer, ′Ere′s to English women an′ a quart of English beer. The Colonel an′ the regiment an′ all who′ve got to stay, Gawd′s mercy strike ′em gentle, Whoop! we′re goin′ ′ome to-day. We′re goin′ ′ome, we′re goin′ ′ome, Our ship is at the shore, An′ you must pack your ′aversack, For we won′t come back no more. Ho, don′t you grieve for me, My lovely Mary-Ann, For I′ll marry you yit on a fourp′ny bit As a time-expired man.
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