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Tarpaulin Jacket (words attributed to G. J. Whyte-Melville (1821-1878);air by Charles Coote) A tall stalwart lancer lay dying, And as on his deathbed he lay, To his friends who around him were sighing, These last dying words he did say: cho: Wrap me up in my tarpaulin jacket And say a poor buffer lies low; And six stalwart lancers shall carry me With steps solemn, mournful and slow. Had I the wings of a little dove, Far far away would I fly; I'd fly Straight for the arms of my true love And there I would lay me and die. cho: Then get you two little white tombstones Put them one at my head and my toe, my toe, And get you a penknife and scratch there: "Here lies a poor buffer below." cho: And get you six brandies and sodas, And set them all out in a row, a row, And get you six jolly good fellows To drink to this buffer below. cho: And then in the calm of the twilight When the soft winds are whispering low, so low, And the darkening shadows are falling, Sometimes think of this buffer below. cho: From the Scottish Students Songbook, 1929 edition. A highly derivative (Prisoner's Song, Unfortunate Rake), highly parodied (The Dying Airman, The Dying Skier, even Fiddlers Green) song that's still current in the armed forces. Also see DYINGAIR, Fiddler's Green RG
Thanks to Mudcat for the Digital Tradition!