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Poem	Troopin', troopin', troopin' to the sea: 'Ere's September come again -- the six-year men are free. O leave the dead be'ind us, for they cannot come away To where the ship's a-coalin' up that takes us 'ome to-day. We're goin' 'ome, we're goin' 'ome, Our ship is at the shore, An' you must pack your 'aversack, For we won't come back no more. Ho, don't you grieve for me, My lovely Mary-Ann, For I'll marry you yit on a fourp'ny bit As a time-expired man. The Malabar's in 'arbour with the ~Jumner~ at 'er tail, An' the time-expired's waitin' of 'is orders for to sail. Ho! the weary waitin' when on Khyber 'ills we lay, But the time-expired's waitin' of 'is orders 'ome to-day. They'll turn us out at Portsmouth wharf in cold an' wet an' rain, All wearin' Injian cotton kit, but we will not complain; They'll kill us of pneumonia -- for that's their little way -- But damn the chills and fever, men, we're goin' 'ome to-day! Troopin', troopin', winter's round again! See the new draf's pourin' in for the old campaign; Ho, you poor recruities, but you've got to earn your pay -- What's the last from Lunnon, lads? We're goin' there to-day. Troopin', troopin', give another cheer -- 'Ere's to English women an' a quart of English beer. The Colonel an' the regiment an' all who've got to stay, Gawd's mercy strike 'em gentle -- Whoop! we're goin' 'ome to-day. We're goin' 'ome, we're goin' 'ome, Our ship is at the shore, An' you must pack your 'aversack, For we won't come back no more. Ho, don't you grieve for me, My lovely Mary-Ann, For I'll marry you yit on a fourp'ny bit As a time-expired man.
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