entone sand,
Musics of the soldier band,
Chocolates wrapped in silver paper
So they won't get wet;
Oh!
What a lot of lots of things
For little boys to get!

THE SOLDIER BAND

My mother and my father are both having tea to drink;
Inside the pastry shop they saw me last.
They don't know where I've got to, for I've runned from where they think;
I heard the soldier band go marching past.

Oh, tiddley--om--ti--pomp they go! Stamp soldier, stamp!
A cab-horse jumped into the air and bumped against a lamp.
Ta--rah--ra--rah, the trumpets go telling the boys to come,
And always and all the time, bang goes the drum.

Look at their lovely leather legs! The big brass things they blow!
I don't care where I walk or who I meet,
I'm following the band away to where the musics grow,
I'm hitting my boots heavy on the street.

For I must find the music man that lets them play so loud,
And find the funny place where soldiers go
To fill their trumpets with the noise they blow among the crowd--
It's not a tea and pastry shop I know.

Oh, I must find the music place, and stamp along the track,
And try to let no trams run over me;
If I'm a long, long way from home, the band will play me back,
That's if I'm good and never spill my tea.

When I grow up a soldier man, I'll buy a pole to wag,
With silver top and tassels red and blue;
I'll tell my little brother to be carrying the flag,
While I call out and tell him how to do.

I don't know where my father is, I've left him in a shop,
And if I'm lost there's bound to be a noise;
If fathers want their children, they should make the policeman stop
The music of the bands that steal the boys.

Oh, tiddley--om--ti--pomp they go! Stamp, soldier, stamp!
A captain with a silver sword is marching them to camp.
Ta--rah--ra--rah, the trumpets go, telling the boys to come,
And always and all the time, bang goes the drum.

INVALID

Raid, raid, go away,
Dote cub back udtil I say,
That wote be for beddy a day.

Ad wot's the good of sudlight, dow?
When I ab kept id bed,
Ad rubbed ad poultised for to cure
The cold that's id be head?

I've beed out od the kitched lawd,
With dothig od be feet,
Ad subthig's coffig id be deck
Ad all be head's a heat.

Tell Bay to dot bake such a doise;
Dote rud the cart