FIDDLER'S GREEN
Halfway down the trail to hell
In a shady meadow green,
Are the souls of all dead troopers camped
Near a good old-time canteen,
And this eternal resting place,
Is known as Fiddler's Green.
Marching past, straight thorugh to Hell,
The Infantry are seen,
Accompanied by the Engineers,
Artillery and Marine,
For none but the shades of Cavalrymen
Dismount at Fiddler's Green.
Though some go curing down the trail
To seek a warmer scene,
No trooper ever gets to Hell
Ere he's emptied his canteen,
And so rides back to drink again
With friends at Fiddler's Green.
And so when man and horse go down
Beneath a saber keen,
Or in a roaring charge or fierce melee
You stop the bullet clean,
And the hostiles come to get your scalp,
Just empty your canteen,
And put your pistol to your head
And go to Fiddler's Green.
Click the hyperlink!! It's not the same song, but you can use the music and sing along! It's actually an Irish Drinking Song.
Memories and mementoes of my first war.