| My name is O’Kelly, I’ve heard the Revelly |
| From Birr to Bareilly, from Leeds to Lahore, |
| Hong-Kong and Peshawur, |
| Lucknow and Etewah, |
| And fifty-five more all endin’ in «роге.» |
| Black Death and his quickness, the depth and the thickness |
| Of sorrow and sickness I’ve known on my way, |
| But I’m old and I’m nervis, |
| I’m cast from the Service, |
| And all I deserve is a shillin’ a day. |
| |
| (Chorus) |
| |
| Shillin’ a day, |
| Bloomin’ good pay - |
| ’ a day! |
| |
| Oh, it drives me half crazy to think of the days I |
| Went slap for the Ghazi, my sword at my side, |
| When we rode Hell-for-leather |
| Both squadrons together, |
| ’t care whether we lived or we died. |
| But it’s no use despairin’, my wife must go charin’ |
| An’ me commissairin’, the pay-bills to better, |
| So if me you be’old |
| In the wet and the cold, |
| ’t you give me a letter? |
| |
| (Full chorus) |
| |
| Give ’im a letter - |
| ’Can’t do no better, |
| Late Troop-Sergeant-Major an’ - runs with a letter! |
| ’e’s been, |
| Think what ’e’s seen. |
| Think of his pension an’ - |
| GAWD SAVE THE QUEEN! |