Oh when the Saints.
Went for prayer,
Against the slayer!
For elongated life,
Before being paradised.
Go marching on.
Not knowing,
Death was coming.
In a jiffy,
Without pity!
Oh when the Saints.
Through the gun
With no fun.
Though no robber
But a farmer.
Go marching on
Not to matter
Rat a tatter.
Throats are slit
For cows to eat.
Oh Lord I want to be in that number
Oh when the Saints go marching on.
@as 011218
