Bob Dylan – Arthur Mcbride (Guitar)

D
Oh, me and my cousin, one Arthur McBride,

E
As we went a-walkin' down by the seaside,

D
Mark now what followed and what did betide,

E
For it bein' on Christmas mornin'

D
Now, for recreation, we went on a tramp,

E
And we met Sergeant Napper and Corporal Vamp

D
And a little wee drummer intending to camp,

E
For the day bein' pleasant and charmin'.

D
"Good morning, good morning," the Sergeant he cried.

E
"And the same to you, gentlemen," we did reply,

D
Intending no harm but meant to pass by,

E
For it bein' on Christmas mornin'

D
"But," says he, "My fine fellows, if you will enlist,

E
Ten guineas in gold I'll stick to your fist,

D
And a crown in the bargain for to kick up the dust,

E
And drink the king's health in the morning.

D
"For a soldier, he leads a very fine life,

E
And he always is blessed with a charming young wife,

D
And he pays all his debts without sorrow or strife,

E
And he always lives pleasant and charmin',

D
And a soldier, he always is decent and clean,

E
In the finest of clothing he's constantly seen.

D
While other poor fellows go dirty and mean,

E
And sup on thin gruel in the morning."

D
"But," says Arthur, "I wouldn't be proud of your clothes,

E
For you've only the lend of them, as I suppose,

D
But you dare not change them one night, for you know

E
If you do, you'll be flogged in the morning,

D
And although that we're single and free,

E
We take great delight in our own company,

D
We have no desire strange places to see,

E
Although that your offers are charming.

D
"And we have no desire to take your advance,

E
All hazards and dangers we barter on chance,

D
For you'd have no scruples for to send us to France,

E
Where we would get shot without warning,"

D
"Oh no," says the Sergeant. "I'll have no such chat,

E
And neither will I take it from snappy young brats,

D
For if you insult me with one other word,

E
I'll cut off your heads in the morning."

D
And Arthur and I, we soon drew our hogs,

E
And we scarce gave them time to draw their own blades

D
When a trusty shillelagh came over their head

E
And bid them take that as fair warning.

D
And their old rusty rapiers that hung by their sides,

E
We flung them as far as we could in the tide,

D
"Now take them up, devils!" cried Arthur McBride,

E
"And temper their edge in the mornin'!"

D
And the little wee drummer, we flattened his bow,

E
And we made a football of his rowdy-dow-dow,

D
Threw it in the tide for to rock and to roll,

E
And bade it a tedious returning,

D
And we havin' no money, paid them off in cracks.

E
We paid no respect to their two bloody backs,

D
And we lathered them there like a pair of wet sacks,

E
And left them for dead in the morning.

D
And so, to conclude and to finish disputes,

E
We obligingly asked if they wanted recruits,

D
For we were the lads who would give them hard clouts

E
And bid them look sharp in the mornin'.

D
Oh, me and my cousin, one Arthur McBride,

E
As we went a-walkin' down by the seaside,

D
Mark now what followed and what did betide,

E
For it bein' on Christmas mornin'