Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies

Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, and what art,

Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

And when thy heart began to beat,

What dread hand? And what dread feet?

What the hammer? What the chain?

In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil? What dread grasp

Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,

And watered heaven with their tears,

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Gil-galad was an Elven-king.

Of him the harpers sadly sing:

the last whose realm was fair and free

between the mountains and the sea

His sword was long, his lance was keen

his shining helm afar was seen;

the countless stars of heaven's field

were mirrored in his silver shield

But long ago he rode away,

and where he dwelleth none can say;

for into darkness fell his star

in Mordor where the shadows are.

I went into a Public'ouse to get a pint o'beer,

The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here"

The girls be'ind the bar they laughed and giggled fit to die,

I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:

"O, it's Tommy this an' Tommy that, an' Tommy go away";

"But it's 'Thank you Mister Atkins' when the band begins to play"

The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play

O it's 'Thank you Mister Atkins' when the band begins to play

I went into a Theatre as sober as could be,

They gave a drunk civilian room, but adn't none for me;

They sent me to the gallery or round the music'alls,

But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls

For it's Tommy this an' Tommy that, an' Tommy wait outside

But it's 'Special train for Atkins' when the troopers on the tide

The Troopships on the tide, my boys, the troopers on the tide

O it's 'Special train for Atkins' when the troopers on the tide

Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep

Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;

An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit

Is five times better businessthan paradin' in full kit.

Then it's Tommy this an' Tommy that, an' Tommy, 'ow's yer soul

But it's 'Thin red line of 'eroes' when the drums begin to roll

The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll

O it's 'Thin red line of 'eroes' when the drums begin to roll

We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,

But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;

An' if our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,

Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints

while it's Tommy this an' Tommy that, an' Tommy 'Tommy fall be'ind'

But it's 'Please to walk in front, sir' when there's trouble in the wind,

There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind

O it's 'Please to walk in front, sir' when there's trouble in the wind

You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires an' all;

We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.

Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face

The Widow's uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace

For it's Tommy this an' Tommy that, an' 'chuck him out, the brute!'

But it's saviour of his country when the guns begin to shoot

An' it's Tommy this an' Tommy that, an' anything you please

An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool - you bet that Tommy sees!