I'm Sairgeant Weelum Henderson frae Pairth,
That's wha I am!
There's jist ae bluidy regiment on airth
That's worth a damn;
An’ gin the bonniest fechter o’ the lot
Ye seek to see,
Him that's the best — whaur ilka man's a Scot —
Speir you at me!
Gin there's a hash o’ Gairmans pitten oot
By aichts an’ tens,
That Wully Henderson's been thereaboot
A'body kens.
Fegs-aye! Yon Weelum that's in Gairmanie,
He hadna reckoned
Wi’ Sairgeant Weelum Henderson, an’ wi’
The Forty-Second!
Yon day we lichtit on the shores o’ France,
The lassies standin’
Trod ilk on ither's taes to get the chance
To see us landin’;
The besoms! O they smiled to me — an’ yet
They couldna’ help it,
( Mysel’, I just was thinkin’ foo we'd get
The Gairmans skelpit. )
I'm wearied wi’ them, for it's aye the same
Whaure'er we gang,
Oor Captain thinks we've got his een to blame,
But, man! he's wrang;
I winna say he's no as smairt a lad
As ye micht see
Atween twa Sawbaths — aye, he's no sae bad,
But he's no me!
Weel, let the limmers bide; their bonnie lips
Are fine an’ reid;
But me an’ Weelum's got to get to grips
Afore we're deid;
An’ gin he thinks he has n't met his match
He'll sune be wiser.
Here's to mysel’! Here's to the auld Black Watch!
An’ damn the Kaiser!