Oh Melville's brown horse has come frae a grand mare, If you'll rein up behind him, that soon will appear; For whenever you spur him, though gently, gently, To the snort of his front he replies with his rear. The elements in him are so combined, To one ounce of water you've fifty of wind; But I must not quarrel, With his double-barrel, For in truth he's a wonderful creature - behind. When our good yeomanry are drawn up in ranks, I'm a skirmisher, sir, and must act on the flanks, Where, in trotting and wheeling, and dressing and drilling, To the great thunderbum I oft breathe out my thanks; For if the proud billows that lash the shore Drown the Captain's command with their awful roar, Yet they never prevail O'er the gun in his tail Which, exploding behind, leads to glory before. The causes of this I cannot discern; 'Tis a case in pneumatics, and hard to learn; But let Leslie explain that, to me it is plain, that The great thunderbum must respire from the stern. Then fill up a glass to the wonderful brute; May he long work his air-pump, and piston to boot; And soon in the troop May the blast of his poop, Instruct all the juvenile nags how to shoot.
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