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Upon the fire he saw a pot,
Of sav'ry viands smoking- hot,
Said he, "they shan't enjoy that stew,"
Then " Boots and saddles " loudly blew. |
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'No matter should it rain or snow That bugler he is bound to blow |
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They scarce their half cooked meal begin, Ere orderly cries out " Fall in," Then off they march tbro' mud and rain, P'raps only to march back again. |
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