“'Is cot was right-'and cot to mine”, said Files-on-Parade. “'E's sleepin' out an' far to-night”, the Colour-Sergeant said. “I've drunk 'is beer a score o' times”, said Files-on-Parade. “'E's drinkin' bitter beer alone”, the Colour-Sergeant said. They are hangin' Danny Deever, you must mark 'im to 'is place, For 'e shot a comrade sleepin'--you must look 'im in the face; Nine 'undred of 'is county an' the regiment's disgrace, While they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'. “What's that so black agin' the sun?” said Files-on-Parade. “It's Danny fightin' 'ard for life”, the Colour-Sergeant said. “What's that that whimpers over'ead?” said Files-on-Parade. “It's Danny's soul that's passin' now”, the Colour-Sergeant said. For they're done with Danny Deever, you can 'ear the quickstep play, The regiment's in column, an' they're marchin' us away; Ho! the young recruits are shakin', an' they'll want their beer to-day, After hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'. Tommy I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer, The publican 'e up an' sez, “We serve no red-coats here.” The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die, I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I: O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' “Tommy, go away”; But it's “Thank you, Mister Atkins”, when the band begins to play, The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play, O it's “Thank you, Mister Atkins”, when the band begins to play. I went into a theatre as sober as could be, They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me; They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls, But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls! For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' “Tommy, wait outside”; But it's “Special train for Atkins” when the trooper's on the tide, The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide, O it's “Special train for Atkins” when the trooper's on the tide. Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap; An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit. Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' “Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?” But it's “Thin red line of 'eroes” when the drums begin to roll, The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll, O it's “Thin red line of 'eroes” when the drums begin to roll.