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Oh my husband's in Salonika and I wonder if he's dead |
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I wonder if he knows he has got a kid with a foxy head |
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And when the war is over, what will the slackers do? |
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They'll be around the soldiers for the loan of a bob or two |
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So right away, so right away |
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So right away, Salonika |
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Right away, my soldier boy |
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And when the war is over, what will the soldiers do? |
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They'll walk around with a leg or two and the slackers they'll have two |
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And when the war is over, what will the slackers do? |
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For every Kid in America, in Cork there will be two |
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So right away, so right away |
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So right away, Salonika |
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Right away, my soldier boy |
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Now they taxed their pound of butter and they taxend their ha'penny bun |
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And still with all their taxes they can't beat the bloody hun |
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They taxed the Coliseum, and they taxed St. Mary's Hall |
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Why don't they tax the bobbies wi' their backs against the wall? |
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So right away, so right away |
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So right away, Salonika |
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Right away, my soldier boy |
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For they takes us out to Blarney and they lays us on the Grass |
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Puts us in the familiy way and leaves us on our ass |
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And never marry a soldier, a sailor or a Marine |
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Keep your eyes on the Irish boy, his yellow, white and green |
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So right away, so right away |
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So right away, Salonika |
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Right away, my soldier boy |
