歌曲名 Arthur Mcbride

歌手名 Bob Dylan

作词：Traditional

作曲：Traditional

Oh me and my cousin

One Arthur McBride

As we went a-walkin' down by the seaside

Mark now what followed and what did betide

For it bein' on Christmas mornin'

Now for recreation

We went on a tramp

And we met Sergeant Napper and Corporal Vamp

And a little wee drummer intending to camp

For the day bein' pleasant and charmin'

Good morning good morning

The Sergeant he cried

And the same to you gentlemen we did reply

Intending no harm but meant to pass by

For it bein' on Christmas mornin'

But says he

My if fine you fellows will enlist

Ten guineas in gold I' ll stick to your fist

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

And drink the king' s health in the morning

For a soldier he leads a very fine life

And he always is blessed with a charming young wife

And he pays all his debts without sorrow or strife

And he always lives pleasant and charmin'

And a soldier

He always is decent and clean

In the finest of clothing he' s constantly seen

While other poor fellows go dirty and mean

And sup on thin gruel in the morning

But says Arthur

I wouldn' t be proud of your clothes

For you' ve only the lend of them

As I suppose

But you dare not change them one night

For you know

If you do

You' ll be flogged in the morning

And although that we' re single and free

We take great delight in our own company

We have no desire strange places to see

Although that your offers are charming

And we have no desire to take your advance

All hazards and dangers we barter on chance

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

Where we would get shot without warning

Oh no says the Sergeant

I' ll have no such chat

And neither will I take it from snappy young brats

For if you insult me with one other word

I' ll cut off your heads in the morning

And Arthur and I

We soon drew our hogs

And we scarce gave them time to draw their own blades

When a trusty shillelagh came over their head

And bid them take that as fair warning

And their old rusty rapiers that hung by their sides

We flung them as far as we could in the tide

Now take them up devils

Cried Arthur McBride

And temper their edge in the mornin'

And the little wee drummer

We flattened his bow

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

Threw it in the tide for to rock and to roll

And bade it a tedious returning

And we havin' no money

Paid them off in cracks

We paid no respect to their two bloody backs

And we lathered them there like a pair of wet sacks

And left them for dead in the morning

And so to conclude and to finish disputes

We obligingly asked if they wanted recruits

For we were the lads who would give them hard clouts

And bid them look sharp in the mornin'

Oh me and my cousin

One Arthur McBride

As we went a-walkin' down by the seaside

Mark now what followed and what did betide

For it bein' on Christmas mornin'