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[ti:Arthur McBride] |
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[ar:Bob Dylan] |
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[al:Good As I Been To You (Remastered)] |
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[offset:0] |
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作词 : Traditional |
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Arthur McBride - Bob Dylan |
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Oh me and my cousin one Arthur McBride |
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As we went a-walkin' down by the seaside |
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Mark now what followed and what did betide |
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For it bein' on Christmas mornin' |
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Now for recreation we went on a tramp |
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And we met Sergeant Napper and Corporal Vamp |
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And a little wee drummer intending to camp |
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For the day bein' pleasant and charmin' |
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Good morning good morning |
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The Sergeant he cried |
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And the same to you |
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Gentlemen we did reply |
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Intending no harm but meant to pass by |
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For it bein' on Christmas mornin' |
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But says he My fine fellows |
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If you will enlist |
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Ten guineas in gold |
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I'll stick to your fist |
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And a crown in the |
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Bargain for to kick up the dust |
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And drink the king's |
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Health in the morning |
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For a soldier |
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He leads a very fine life |
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And he always is blessed |
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With a charming young wife |
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And he pays all his debts |
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Without sorrow or strife |
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And he always lives |
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Pleasant and charmin' |
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And a soldier |
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He always is decent and clean |
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In the finest of clothing |
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He's constantly seen |
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While other poor fellows |
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Go dirty and mean |
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And sup on thin gruel in the morning |
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But says Arthur |
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I wouldn't be proud of your clothes |
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For you've only the lend of them |
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As I suppose |
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But you dare not change them one night |
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For you know |
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If you do you'll be flogged in the morning |
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And although that we're single and free |
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We take great delight in our own company |
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We have no desire strange places to see |
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Although that your offers are charming |
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And we have no desire to take your advance |
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All hazards and dangers we barter on chance |
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For you'd have no scruples for to send us to France |
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Where we would get shot without warning |
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Oh no says the Sergeant I'll have no such chat |
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And neither will I take it from snappy young brats |
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For if you insult me with one other word |
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I'll cut off your heads in the morning |
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And Arthur and I we soon drew our hogs |
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And we scarce gave them time to draw their own blades |
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When a trusty shillelagh came over their head |
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And bid them take that as fair warning |
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And their old rusty rapiers that hung by their sides |
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We flung them as far as we could in the tide |
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Now take them up devils cried Arthur McBride |
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And temper their edge in the mornin' |
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And the little wee drummer we flattened his bow |
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And we made a football of his rowdy-dow-dow |
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Threw it in the tide for to rock and to roll |
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And bade it a tedious returning |
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And we havin' no money paid them off in cracks |
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We paid no respect to their two bloody backs |
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And we lathered them there like a pair of wet sacks |
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And left them for dead in the morning |
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And so to conclude and to finish disputes |
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We obligingly asked if they wanted recruits |
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For we were the lads who would give them hard clouts |
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And bid them look sharp in the mornin' |
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Oh me and my cousin one Arthur McBride |
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As we went a-walkin' down by the seaside |
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Mark now what followed and what did betide |
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For it bein' on Christmas mornin' |
