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`What are the bugles blowin` for?` said Files-on-Parade.
`To turn you out, to turn you out,` the Colour-Sergeant said.
`What makes you look so white, so white?` said Files-on-Parade.
`I`m dreadin` what I`ve got to watch,` the Colour-Sergeant said.
For they`re hangin` Danny Deever, you can hear the Dead March play,
The regiment`s in `ollow square--they`re hangin` him to-day;
They`ve taken of his buttons off an` cut his stripes away,
An` they`re hangin` Danny Deever in the mornin`.
`What makes the rear-rank breathe so `ard?` said Files-on-Parade.
`It`s bitter cold, it`s bitter cold,` the Colour-Sergeant said.
`What makes that front-rank man fall down?` says Files-on-Parade.
`A touch o` sun, a touch o` sun,` the Colour-Sergeant said.
They are hangin` Danny Deever, they are marchin` of `im round,
They `ave `alted Danny Deever by `is coffin on the ground;
An` `e`ll swing in `arf a minute for a sneakin` shootin` hound--
0 they`re hangin` Danny Deever in the mornin` !
``Is cot was right-`and cot to mine,` said Files-on-Parade.
``E`s sleepin` out an` far to-night,` the Colour-Sergeant said.
`I`ve drunk `is beer a score o` times,` said Files-on-Parade.
``E`s drinkin` bitter beer alone,` the Colour-Sergeant said.
They are hangin` Danny Deever, you must mark `im to `is place,
For `e shot a comrade sleepin`--you must look `im in the face;
Nine `undred of `is county an` the regiment`s disgrace,
While they`re hangin` Danny Deever in the mornin`.
`What`s that so black agin the sun?` said Files-on-Parade.
`It`s Danny fightin` `ard for life,` the Colour-Sergeant said.
`What`s that that whimpers over`ead?` said Files-on-Parade.
`It`s Danny`s soul that`s passin` now,` the Colour-Sergeant said.
For they`re done with Danny Deever, you can `ear the quick-step play,
The regiment`s in column, an` they`re marchin` us away;
Ho! the young recruits are shakin`, an` they`ll want their beer to-day,
After hangin` Danny Deever in the mornin`.
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