Zut! Zut! Zut!
E. Elgar
Come! give it a lift, our old-time march-song,
Sing with a will!
Sing with a thrill!
Come, give it a leg, our old-time march-tune,
Grind up the hill;
Lads, 'twas a grill!
How we worked and drilled together,
And laughed and camped in foulest weather,
And fought where arms were brightly flashing,
Across the hail of bullets dashing:
Gloried in danger, our sinews tight'ning.
A firm front shewed in the canons' light'ning
Hurrah!
Come! shall we forget our old-time march-song?
The lads sang it so,
Long, long ago;
No! never forget their old-time march-tune,
Sung with a go!
Straight to the foe.
How they fiercely fought for freedom,
And glad our land and proud to breed 'em,
and how they nobly died, and wondrous
Was the battle, grim and thunderous;
Glory to them and a fame transcending
The heroes of old in time unending.
Hurrah!