There’s a little red-faced man,
Which is Bobs,
Rides the tallest ‘orse ‘e can-
Our Bobs,
If it bucks or kicks or rears,
‘E can sit for twenty years
With a smile round both ‘is ears-
Can’t yer, Bobs?
Then ‘ere’s to Bobs Bahadur-
Little Bobs, Bobs, Bobs!
‘E’s our pukka Kandahader-
Fightin’ Bobs, Bobs, Bobs!
‘E’s the Dook of Aggy Chel;
‘E’s the man that done us well,
An’ we’ll follow ‘im to ‘ell-
Won’t we Bobs?
If a limber’s slipped a trace,
‘Ook on Bobs.
If a marker’s lost ‘is place,
Dress by Bobs.
For ‘e’s eyes all up ‘is coat,
An’ a bugle in ‘is throat,
An’ you will not play the goat
Under Bobs.
‘E’s a little down on drink,
Chaplain Bobs;
But it keeps us outer Clink-
Don’t it Bobs?
So we will not complain
Tho’ ‘e’s water on the brain,
If ‘e leads us straight again-
Blue-light Bobs.
If you stood ‘im on ‘is head
Father Bobs,
You could spill a quart o’ lead
Outer Bobs.
‘E’s been at it thirty years,
An’ amassin’ souveneers
In the way o’ slugs an’ spears-
Ain’t yer, Bobs?
What ‘e does not Know o’ war,
Gen’ral Bobs,
You can arst the shop next door-
Can’t they, Bobs?
Oh, ‘e’s little, but he’s wise;
‘E’s a terror for ‘is size,
An’-‘e-does-not-advertise-
Do yer, Bobs?
Now they’ve made a bloomin’ Lord
Outer Bobs,
Which was but ‘is fair reward-
Weren’t it Bobs?
So ‘e’ll wear a coronet
Where ‘is ‘elmet used to set;
But we know you won’t forget-
Will yer, Bobs?
Then ‘ere’s to Bobs Bahadur—
Little Bobs, Bobs, Bobs!
Pocket-Wellin’ton an’ arder—
Fightin’ Bobs, Bobs, Bobs!
This ain’t no bloomin’ ode,
But you’ve ‘elped the soldier’s load,
An’ for benefits bestowed,
Bless yer, Bobs!
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