O it's 'Thank you, Mister Atkins', when the band begins to play.

The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,.

But it's 'Thank you, Mister Atkins', when the band begins to play,.

O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' 'Tommy, go away'.

I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:.

The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,.

The publican 'e up an' sez, 'We serve no red-coats here.'.

I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,.

After hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'.

Ho! the young recruits are shakin', an' they'll want their beer to-day,.

The regiment's in column, an' they're marchin' us away.

For they're done with Danny Deever, you can 'ear the quickstep play,.

'It's Danny's soul that's passin' now', the Colour-Sergeant said.

'What's that that whimpers over'ead?' said Files-on-Parade.

'It's Danny fightin' 'ard for life', the Colour-Sergeant said.

'What's that so black agin' the sun?' said Files-on-Parade.

While they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'.

Nine 'undred of 'is county an' the regiment's disgrace,.

For 'e shot a comrade sleepin'-you must look 'im in the face.

They are hangin' Danny Deever, you must mark 'im to 'is place,.

''E's drinkin' bitter beer alone', the Colour-Sergeant said.

'I've drunk 'is beer a score o' times', said Files-on-Parade.

''E's sleepin' out an' far to-night', the Colour-Sergeant said.

''Is cot was right-'and cot to mine', said Files-on-Parade.

O they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'!.

An' 'e'll swing in 'arf a minute for a sneakin' shootin' hound.

They 'ave 'alted Danny Deever by 'is coffin on the ground.

They are hangin' Danny Deever, they are marchin' of 'im round,.

'A touch o' sun, a touch o' sun', the Colour-Sergeant said.

'What makes that front-rank man fall down?' said Files-on-Parade.

'It's bitter cold, it's bitter cold', the Colour-Sergeant said.

'What makes the rear-rank breathe so 'ard?' said Files-on-Parade.

An' they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'.

They've taken of his buttons off an' cut his stripes away,.

The regiment's in 'ollow square-they're hangin' him to-day.For they're hangin' Danny Deever, you can hear the Dead March play,.'I'm dreadin' what I've got to watch', the Colour-Sergeant said.'What makes you look so white, so white?' said Files-on-Parade.'To turn you out, to turn you out', the Colour-Sergeant said.

'What are the bugles blowin' for?' said Files-on-Parade.

And treat you as a Christian ought to do.

And, Thomas, here's my best respects to you!.

Kipling ballads