Son of Mars (Robert Burns) I am a son of Mars, who have been in many wars, And show my cuts and scars wherever I come: This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum. Lal de daudle, etc. My prenticeship I past where my leader breath'd his last, When the bloody die was cast on the heights of Abram: And I served out my trade when the gallant game was play'd, And the Moro low was laid at the sound of the drum. I lastly was with Curtis among the floatin' batt'ries, And there I left for witness an arm and a limb; Yet let my country need me, with Elliot to head me I'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of the drum. And now, tho' I must beg, with a wooden arm and leg, And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my bum, I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle and my callet, As when I us'd in scarlet to follow a drum. What tho, with hoary locks, I must stand the winter shocks' Beneath the woods and rocks, oftentimes for a home? :' When the tother bag I sell and the tother bottle tell I could meet a troop of Hell, at the sound of a drum. TUNE: Soldier's Joy (84) RG apr96
Thanks to Mudcat for the Digital Tradition!