In
the merry
month of May,
when bees from flower to flower did hum,
soldiers through the town marched
gay,
and the villagers ran to the sound of the drum.
The cobbler threw down his own, where
the lastened apron he had done,
left wax and thread for powder bowl,
and he's left it all
to follow the drum.
The barman saw he'd leave his plough,
his team and furrow'd just begun,
with the country life he'd had enough,
he'd leave it all to follow the drum.
The tailor got off his board,
he's set in a wall of his foes, good lord,
he's left his
bodkin for the sword,
and he's left it all to follow the drum.
The barman saw he'd leave his plough,
his team and furrow'd just begun,
with the country life he'd had enough,
he'd leave it all to follow the drum.
An old dame down the lane,
cursing they were all quite dumb,
she swore it was a burning shame,
that the villagers ran to the sound of the drum.
The barman saw he'd leave his plough,
his team and furrow'd just begun,
with the country life he'd had enough,
he'd leave it all to follow the drum.
In the month of May,
when bees from flower to flower did ho,
soldiers through the town marched gay,
and the villagers ran to the sound of the drum.