The Company Sergeant-Major

The R.S.M. has a fancy chest,

And swank enough for thirty,

But tho' at times 'e can yarn with the best,

'E's inclined to turn up shirty;

But the man who can give and take a joke,

An out an out rampager,

Is that workin', worritin', cussin' old bloke,

The Company Sergeant-Major!

'Quarters' works till the dawn is grey,

And juggles 'is figures neatly,

But a regular knock-down east-wind day

Will jigger 'im up completely;

But the fellow as strong as a blinkin' ox,

And as tough, tho' a trifle sager,

Is that 'oly terror of weak-kneed crocks,

The Company Sergeant-Major!

The officers read their little red books,

(or

don't

, as the case may be, sir),

But isn't to them that the Captain looks,

When he feels 'e's up a tree, sir.

When 'e's turned the company inside out,

I'm ready to lay a wager,

'E'll flick 'is boots with 'is cane and shout –

“Carry on, Sergeant-Major!”

But it's not at 'ome in the barrack square

That the stuff in the lads is tellin',

But in the distant lands 'way over there,

When the enemy's started shellin';

And wherever the mud and the shells are thick,

You'll find that jolly old stager,

That fear nothing, scallywag, son of ole Nick,

The Company Sergeant-Major!