We haven’t a camelty tune of our own

To help us trollop along,

But every neck is a hair trombone

(Rtt-ta-ta-ta! is a hair trombone!)

And this our marching-song:

Can’t! Don’t! Shan’t! Won’t!

Pass it along the line!

Somebody’s pack has slid from his back,

Wish it were only mine!

Somebody’s load has tipped off in the road —

Cheer for a halt and a row!

Urrr! Yarrh! Grr! Arrh!

Somebody’s catching it now!