| lyric | It's march down the stairs, and line on the quay.
Packs on your backs and the boats are away.
Waiting your turn while the life and drums play,
And the song they are singing is eerie.
Chorus:
Farewell ye banks of Sicily,
Farewell ye valley and shore.
There’s nae Jock will mourn the loss of ye.
Poor bloody soldiers are leaving.
The drummie is polished, the drummie is grand,
Carma be seen for his straps and his bands.
Preens himself up for a photo and stand.
To leave to his Lola his dear one.
The pipie is tuned and he's playing away.
He won't go to town for his vino today.
The sky over Antrim is cloudy and grey.
And the song that they're singing is eerie. |