A' ye that hae bumps o' destruction, Rejoice at the prospect o' war, Gae hire out yoursel's as assassins, For Murder is yokin' his car. Fy haste ye to Mars and Minerva, And learn the throat-cutting trade, Get expert in the Gory Profession, And rob till your fortunes are made. CHORUS: Accoutre, and rush to the battle - Political murder's nae sin; It's the Queen's highway to the devil; Then, heroes, be loyal and rin. Should Russia's proud despot determine To kindle the torches o' war, And grasp at our British dominions, He'll find baith a rock and a bar. Or if, for political reasons, Great Britain the Baltic should claim, Or seize upon Fez or Morocco, Then war, bloody war, is the game. Come forward, political heroes, Enrol for the sea or the shore, Be ready for havock or carnage, The cause is the same as before, - Just an honest crusade upon Freedom, To Queen and to country be true; To kill and to murder's your duty, And so is the plundering too. Gae sharp a' your tools for the battle, Rejoice at the cannon's loud roar; Your glory, ye brave human butchers, Is wading knee-deep amang gore. How sweet to the true British sodger, Baith slaves and assassins by trade, Are the fields of their brute-legal murders, Where havock and carnage are made. What a noble profession is murder, When sanctioned by King or by Queen; Then might makes a rightful possession, Is truth that is legal I ween. Come forward, ye sodgers and sailors, There's plunder in war's bloody game; Ye merciless tools of oppression To you right and wrong are the same.
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