Since you all will have singing,
and won't be said nay,
I cannot refuse when you
beg and you pray.
So I'll sing you a song,
as a poet might say,
Of King George's old soldiers,
who ne 'er run away.
We're the old soldiers of the King,
and the King's own reg u lars.
At Preston Pond we met with the
Yankees one day,
We got ourself up in our finest parray.
Our hearts bid us stand,
our heads bid us stay,
But our legs were strong -minded
and took us our way.
We're the Old Soldiers of the King
and the Kings of Regulars.
To Monongahela with
fights and with drums
We marched on our way
with our cannons and bombs
This great expedition cost infinite sums
But some underpaid doodles
they cut us to crumbs
We're the old soldiers of the King
and the Kings of Regulars
They fought so unfairly
from back of the trees
If they'd only fought open
we'd have beat them with ease
They can battle each other
that way if they please
But we don't have to stand
for such tactics as these
We're the old soldiers of the king
and the king's own regulars
We turned and we ran,
but that shouldn't disgrace us
We did it to prove
that the foe could not face us
And they've not to brag of,
be sure that's the case
Though we lost in the fight,
we came first in the race
We'll be our soldiers of the king
And the king's own regu lars