We met without appointment on an‘ ill,
I comed upon the beggar without warnin’;
Layin’ down be'ind a boulder,
With‘ is rifle to‘ is shoulder,
He sent along wot's Dutch for a‘ Good-mornin’.'
‘ E missed me with a fair amount of skill,
An’‘ fore‘ e'd time to mount, an’ get from danger,
I was takin’ of my rest,
By a sittin’ on‘ is chest,
An’ a sayin’ to the welcome little stranger:—
‘ My pal, the Boer!
You're a prisoner of war’
(‘ E tried to break my jaw, but that's a trifle );
‘ You can n't escape me, can yer?
In the name of Rule Britannia,
I commandeer your‘ orse an’ Mauser rifle!’
You would n't call‘ is manners over bright,
An’ you would n't term‘ is disposition sunny,
An’‘ e‘ ad a silly notion
That the cause of the commotion
Was Chamberlain a-fightin’ for‘ is money;
An’‘ e fancied that the British flag was white —
‘ Twas a silly fancy — still we must excuse it,
When the Lancers came along
‘ E felt a trifle bong!
‘ E soon found out the proper way to use it!