In Paris Town, in Paris Town--'twas neath an April sky--
I saw a regiment of the line go marching to Versailles;
When white along the Bois there shone the chestnut's waxen cells,
And the sun was winking on the long Lebels,
_Flic flac, flic flac_, on all the long Lebels!
The flowers were out along the Bois, the leaves were overhead,
And I saw a regiment of the line that swung in blue and red;
The youth of things, the joy of things, they made my heart to beat,
And the quick-step lilting and the tramp of feet!
_Flic flac, flic flac_, the tramping of the feet!
The spikéd nuts have fallen and the leaf is dull and dry
Since last I saw a regiment go marching to Versailles;
And what's become of all of those that heard the music play?
They trained them for the Frontier upon an August day;
_Flic flac, flic flac_, all on an August day!
And some of them they stumbled on the slippery summer grass,
And there they've left them lying with their faces to Alsace;
The others--so they'd tell you--ere the chestnut's decked for Spring,
Shall march beneath some linden trees to call upon a King;
_Flic flac, flic flac_, to call upon a King.
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