How happy s the Soldier who lives on his pay, And spends half-a crown out of sixpence a-day Yet fears neither justice warrants nor bums, But pays all his debts with the roll of his drum. With a row-de-dow, &c.
He cares not a marvady how the world goes, His King finds him quarters, & money & clothes; His laughs at all sorrow whenever it comes, And rattles away with the roll of the drum.
With a row-de-dow, &c.
The drum is his glory, his joy, and delight; It leads him to pleasure as well as delight; No girl, when she hears it, tho’ ever so glum, Bui packs up her tatters and follows the drum. With a row-de-dow, &c.
