Behold, I am a soldier bold,|
And only twenty-five years old;
A braver warrior never was seen
Fae Inverness tae Gretna Green.
When I was young my father said
He would 'prentice me a decent trade,
But I dinna like that job at a',
Sae I went and joined the Forty-Twa.
The wind may blaw, the cock may craw,
The rain may rain and the snaw may snaw
But ye winna frichten Jock MacGraw,
The stoutest man in the Forty-Twa!
The sergeant when he 'listed me,
He winked his e'e and then says he,
"A man like you sae stout and tall
Can ne'er be killed by a cannon ball!"
The captain then when he cam' 'roon,
He looked me up and he looked me doon,
And said, said he, "I'l1 tak' a guess ---
Ye must be the beastie o' Loch Ness!"*
At oor last fecht across the sea
The general, he sends efter me,
Fan I gaed there and my big gun,
0' coorse, the battle it was won.
The enemy a' ran awa',
They were feart at the legs o' Jock NacGraw;
A man like me sae tall and neat,
Ye ken yersel' he could niver be beat.
The King then held a grand review,
We numbered a thousand and sixty-two;
The kiltie lads cam' marchin' past
And Jock MacGraw cam' marchin' last.
The royal party grabbed their sticks
An' a' began tae stretch their necks.
Cries the King tae the Colonel, "Upon my soul,
I took that man for a telegraph pole!"
Then turning tae the sergeant, "Why, ye champ,
Ye've blasted the wheat-field oot on tramp!"