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Men at Work |
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i Old King Cole was a merry old soul, And a merry old soul was he. He called for his pipe, he called for his bowl, He called for his privates three. "Beer, beer, beer," said the privates, For no one there could compare with the field artilleree.
2 Old King Cole was a merry old soul, And a merry old soul was he.
He called for his pipe, he called for his bowl,
He called for his corporals three.
"One-two, one-two, one," said the corporals,
"Beer, beer, beer," said the privates,
For no one there could compare with the field artilleree.
3 He called for his sergeants three.* "Forward right by squads," said the sergeants.
4 He called for his lieutenants three.
"We want ten days leave," said the lieutenants
5 He called for his captains three.
"We want much more pay," said the captains.
6 He called for his majors three.
"The army's gone to hell," said the majors.
7 He called for his colonels three. "Nuts, nuts, nuts," said the colonels.
8 He called for his generals three.
"We want no more war," said the generals.
* Each stanza should be expanded as the second from the first. |
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