We’re walking our post like a little tin soldier,
Backward and forward we go,
By the Solitary’s cell, which assuredly is hell--
It’s five foot square you know.
The boy was all right but he would get tight
When pay-day came around;
And the non-com he hated was thereupon slated
To measure 5-10 on the ground.
Oh yes, _we’ve_ been in the calaboose,
We’ve done _our_ turn in the jug;
’Cause the fellow we lick must go raise a kick--
The dirty, cowardly mug.
His heart was all right and his arm was all right,
But it’s fearful what drink will do:
And the corporal he hit with the butt of a gun
And nigh put the corporal through.
It’s way against orders, it’s awful, I know,
They’d jug me myself--what’s more--
But I must slip the beggar a chew and a smoke
Just under the jamb of the door.
He’s bound to get Ten and a Bob for sure
Abreaking stone on the Isle,
So they fastened ’im fair in a five foot square
Till the day that they give ’im a trial.
Oh the Corporal o’ the Guard is a wakeful man--
My duty is written plain,
But the Solitary there in his cramped and lonely lair,
It’s enough to drive a man insane.
He’s time to repent for the money that he spent
And the temper that cursed him too,
When he’s breaking rock all day by the shores o’ ’Frisco Bay
Where he sees the happy homeward-bounds come through.
Shall we risk it--shall we risk it--heart o’ mine?
Oh _damn_ the Corporal of the Guard.
While we slip “the makings” under to the Solitary’s wonder,
And the whispered thanks come back--“God bless you, pard.”