Songs

God Save The King

God save our gracious King.
Long live our noble King.
God save the King.
Send him victorious,
Happy and glorious,
Long to reign over us.
God save the King.

O Lord our God arise.
Scatter his enemies,
And make them fall.
Confound their politics,
Frustrate their knavish tricks.
On thee our hopes we fix.
God save us all.

The choicest gifts in store.
On him be pleased to pour,
Long may he reign.
May he defend our laws,
And ever give us cause,
To sing with heart and voice,
God save the King.

Not in this land alone,
But be God’s mercies known,
From shore to shore.
Lord make the nations see,
That men should brothers be,
And form one family,
The wide world o’er.

From every latent foe,
From the assassins blow,
God save the king.
O’er him Thine arm extend,
For Britain’s sake defend,
Our father, prince and friend,
God save the king.

Fathom the Bowl

I’ll fathom the bowl, I’ll fathom the bowl
Give me the punch ladle, I’ll fathom the bowl

Come all you bold heroes, give an ear to my song
And well sing in the praise of good brandy and rum
There’s a clear crystal fountain near England shall roll
Give me the punch ladle, I’ll fathom the bowl

From France we do get brandy, from Jamaica comes rum
Sweet oranges and apples from Portugal come
But stout and strong cider are England’s control
Give me the punch ladle, I’ll fathom the bowl

My wife she do disturb me when I’m laid at my ease
She does as she likes and she says as she please
My wife, she’s a devil, she’s black as the coal
Give me the punch ladle, I’ll fathom the bowl

My father he do lie in the depths of the sea
With no stone at his head but what matters for he
There’s a clear crystal fountain, near England shall roll
Give me the punch ladle, I’ll fathom the bowl

“A Roving”

(1st NJV verses by Pvt. Jack aka “The Giggler”)

The Continentals formed a line.
Way, hey a roving.
The Continentals formed a line.
Mark well what I do say.
The Continentals formed a line, then ran away from Brandywine.
I‘ll go no more a roving with you fair maid.

A roving, a roving, since roving’s been my rue-I-aye,
I‘ll go no more a roving with you fair maid.

George Washington he wears a frown,
‘cause he lost the house at Germantown

We are so loyal to our King
And that is why we love to sing,

We Redcoats don’t like marching fast
But once we’re there we’ll have a blast.

We follow our officers here and there
Oh even when they don’t know where.

the doodles think that we are nuts
and yet we mostly kick their butts.

Major likes the war I hear
`cause first we fight and then drink bear.

We always have shiny brass
Or Sgt. Major kicks our ass.

Barrett’s Privateers

Oh, the year was 1778

How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now

A letter of marque came from the king

To the scummiest vessel I’ve ever seen

God damn them all! I was told

We’d cruise the seas for American gold

We’d fire no guns, shed no tears

But I’m a broken man on a Halifax pier

The last of Barrett’s Privateers

Oh, Elcid Barrett cried the town

How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now

For twenty brave men all fishermen who

Would make for him the Antelope’s crew

God damn them all! I was told

We’d cruise the seas for American gold

We’d fire no guns, shed no tears

But I’m a broken man on a Halifax pier

The last of Barrett’s Privateers

The Antelope sloop was a sickening sight

How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now

She’d a list to the port and her sails in rags

And the cook in the scuppers with the staggers and jags

God damn them all! I was told

We’d cruise the seas for American gold

We’d fire no guns, shed no tears

But I’m a broken man on a Halifax pier

The last of Barrett’s Privateers

On the King’s birthday we put to sea

How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now

We were 91 days to Montego Bay

Pumping like madmen all the way

God damn them all! I was told

We’d cruise the seas for American gold

We’d fire no guns, shed no tears

But I’m a broken man on a Halifax pier

The last of Barrett’s Privateers

On the 96th day we sailed again

How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now

When a bloody great Yankee hove in sight

With our cracked four pounders we made to fight

God damn them all! I was told

We’d cruise the seas for American gold

We’d fire no guns, shed no tears

But I’m a broken man on a Halifax pier

The last of Barrett’s Privateers

Now the Yankee lay low down with gold

How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now

She was broad and fat and loose in the stays

But to catch her took the Antelope two whole days

God damn them all! I was told

We’d cruise the seas for American gold

We’d fire no guns, shed no tears

But I’m a broken man on a Halifax pier

The last of Barrett’s Privateers

Then at length we stood two cables away

How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now

Our cracked four pounders made an awful din

But with one fat ball, the Yank stove us in

God damn them all! I was told

We’d cruise the seas for American gold

We’d fire no guns, shed no tears

But I’m a broken man on a Halifax pier

The last of Barrett’s Privateers

The Antelope shook and pitched on her side

How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now

Barrett was smashed like a bowl of eggs

And the Main truck carried off both me legs

God damn them all! I was told

We’d cruise the seas for American gold

We’d fire no guns, shed no tears

But I’m a broken man on a Halifax pier

The last of Barrett’s Privateers

So here I lay in my 23rd year

How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now

It’s been 6 years since we sailed away

And I just made Halifax yesterday

God damn them all! I was told

We’d cruise the seas for American gold

We’d fire no guns, shed no tears

But I’m a broken man on a Halifax pier

The last of Barrett’s Privateers

British Grenadiers

Some talk of Alexander, and some of Hercules,
Of Hector and Lysander, and such great names as these,
But of all the world’s great heroes,
There’s none that can compare,
With a tow, row row row , row row row,
To the British Grenadiers.

None of these ancient heroes ne’er saw a cannon ball,
Nor knew the force of powder to slay their foes with all,
But our brave boys do know it and banish all their fears,
Sing tow, row row row , row row row,
For the British Grenadiers.

When eâer we are commanded to storm the palisades,
Our leaders march with fuses, and we with hand grenades;
We throw them from the glacis about the enemies’ ears,
Sing tow, row row row , row row row,
For the British Grenadiers.

And when the siege is over, we to the town repair.
The townsmen cry Hurrah, boys, here comes a Grenadier.
Here come the Grenadiers, my boys, who know no doubts or fears.
Sing tow, row row row , row row row,
For the British Grenadiers.

So let us fill a bumper, and drink a health to those,
Who carry caps and pouches, and wear the louped clouthes.
May they and their commanders live happy all their years.
Sing tow, row row row , row row row,
For the British Grenadiers.

Rule Brittania

1. When Britain first, at heaven’s command,
Arose from out the azure main,
Arose, arose, arose from out the azure main.
This was the charter, the charter of the land,
And guardian angels sang the strain.

Rule Britannia!
Britannia rule the waves.
Britons never, never, never shall be slaves.

2. The nations not so blest as thee,
Must in their turn to tyrants fall,
Must in their turn, must in their turn,
To tyrants fall,
While thou shall flourish,
Shall flourish great and free,
The dread and envy of them all.

Chorus.

3. Still more majestic shalt thou rise,
More dreadful from each foreign stroke.
More dreadful, more dreadful
From each foreign stroke.
As the loud blast that tears the skies,
Serves but to root thy native oak.

Chorus.

4. Thee haughty tyrants ne’er shall tame,
All their attempts to bend thee down,
All their attempts, all their attempts
To bend thee down,
Will but arouse thy generous flame.
But work their woe and thy renown.

Chorus.

5. To thee belongs the rural reign,
Thy cities shall with commerce shine,
Thy cities shall, thy cities shall
With commerce shine.
All thine shall be the subject main,
And every shore it circles thine.

Chorus.

6. The muses still, with freedom found,
Shall to thy happy coast repair,
Shall to thy happy coast,
Thy happy coasts repair,
Best isle of beauty,
With matchless beauty crowned,
And manly hearts to guard the fair.

Chorus.

The Minstrel Boy

The minstrel boy to the war is gone,
In the ranks of death you’ll find him;
His father’s sword he hath girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him;

“Land of Song!” cried the warrior bard,
(Should) “Tho’ all the world betrays thee,
One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,
One faithful harp shall praise thee!”

The Minstrel fell! But the foeman’s steel
Could not bring that proud soul under;
The harp he lov’d ne’er spoke again,
For he tore its chords asunder;

And said “No chains shall sully thee,
Thou soul of love and brav’ry!
Thy songs were made for the pure and free
They shall never sound in slavery!

Men of Harlech

March ye men of Harlech bold, Unfurl your banners in the field,
Be brave as were your sires of old, And like them never yield!
What tho’ evry hill and dale, Echoes now with war’s alarms,
Celtic hearts can never quail, When Cambria calls to arms.

By each lofty mountain, By each crystal fountain,
By your homes where those you love Await your glad returning,
Let each thought and action prove, True glory can the Cymru move,
And as each blade gleams in the light, Pray “God defend the right!”

Clans from Mona wending, Now with Arvon blending,
Haste with rapid strides along The path that leads to glory,
From Snowdon’s hills with harp and song, And Nantlle’s vale proceeds a throng,
Whose ranks with yours shall proudly vie, “And nobly win or die!”

March ye men of Harlech go, Lov’d fatherland your duty claims,
Onward comes the Saxon foe, His footsteps mark’d in flames;
But his march breeds no dismay, Boasting taunts we meet with scorn,
Craven like their hosts shall flee Like mists before the morn.

On the foemen dashing, Swords and bucklers clashing;
Smite with will their savage band Nor think of e’er retreating:
But with a firm unflinching hand, In blood quench ev’ry burning brand,
And for each roof tree cast away A Saxon life shall pay.

Thus each bosom nerving, From no danger swerving,
Soon shall the invader feel The doom of fate rewarding;
They firmly grasp the flashing steel, And as ye strike for Cymru’s weal,
Be this your cry, till life’s last breath – “Our Liberty or Death!”

songs