‘Atten-shun! <br />Stand by your gun! <br />And look in the Frenchies eyes, <br />They're marching down at the sound of the drum <br />So many they look like flies. <br />Don't be afraid of the French Cockade <br />They're flesh and blood, like you, <br />We'll scatter them over the battlefield <br />On this hill, near Waterloo.' <br /> <br />‘Right Dress, <br />Look at your best, <br />You're here for the King and Queen, <br />Let's have no slovenly army dress <br />If you die, they'll say, ‘He's clean! ' <br />Your Red coat's more than a match for the Blue, <br />It's just a matter of course, <br />Old Boney's riding across at the rear <br />Astride of his pure white horse! ' <br /> <br />‘Eyes front, <br />Look to your gun, <br />And gather your cannister shot, <br />One can will decimate fifty French <br />And pile their bodies to rot. <br />You'll tear the cavalry horse to shreds <br />And pile them high at the front, <br />They'll have to clamber over the lot <br />While you're reloading your gun.' <br /> <br />Stand fast! <br />Think of your lass, <br />How proud she will be of you, <br />Taking apart proud Bonaparte <br />At the Battle of Waterloo. <br />Hey gunner! You! Take over the gun <br />He's slipped and died in the mud, <br />Don't look so green at the sights you've seen, <br />He's dead, and it's only blood! ' <br /> <br />‘You there! <br />Form in a square, <br />The Lancers are over the hill, <br />Wait ‘til you see the whites of their eyes <br />Then front rank, fire at will.' <br />Their horses speared on a line of stakes <br />The French turned back in fear, <br />The R.S.M. raised his voice up then, <br />‘We've got them - Blucher's here! ' <br /> <br />23 February 2013<br /><br />David Lewis Paget<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-r-s-m/
