“What are the bugles blowin’ for?” said Files-on-Parade. “To turn you out, to turn you out”, the Colour-Sergeant said. “What makes you look so white, so white?” said Files-on-Parade. “I'm dreadin’ what I've got to watch”, the Colour-Sergeant said.
For they're hangin’ Danny Deever, you can hear the Dead March play, The regiment's in‘ ollow square — they're hangin’ him to-day; They've taken of his buttons off an’ cut his stripes away, An’ they're hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’.
“What makes the rear-rank breathe so‘ ard?” said Files-on-Parade. “It's bitter cold, it's bitter cold”, the Colour-Sergeant said. “What makes that front-rank man fall down?” said Files-on-Parade. “A touch o’ sun, a touch o’ sun”, the Colour-Sergeant said.
They are hangin’ Danny Deever, they are marchin’ of‘ im round, They‘ ave‘ alted Danny Deever by‘ is coffin on the ground; An’‘ e'll swing in‘ arf a minute for a sneakin’ shootin’ hound — O they're hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’!
“‘ 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’.
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