Poem by Andrew Barton Paterson

Jock

There’s a soldier that’s been doing of his share 
In the fighting up and down and round about. 
He’s continually marching here and there, 
And he’s fighting, morning in and morning out. 
The Boer, you see, he generally runs; 
But sometimes, when he hides behind a rock, 
And we can’t make no impression with the guns, 
Oh, then you’ll hear the order, ”Send for Jock!” 
Yes -- it’s Jock -- Scotch Jock. 
He’s the fellow that can give or take a knock. 
For he’s hairy and he’s hard, 
And his feet are by the yard, 
And his face is like the face what’s on a clock. 
But when the bullets fly you will mostly hear the cry -- 
”Send for Jock!” 

The Cavalry have gun and sword and lance; 
Before they choose their weapon, why, they’re dead. 
The Mounted Foot are hampered in advance 
By holding of their helmets on their head. 
And, when the Boer has dug himself a trench 
And placed his Maxim gun behind a rock, 
These mounted heroes -- pets of Johnny French -- 
They have to sit and wait and send for Jock! 

Yes, the Jocks -- Scotch Jocks, 
With their music that’d terrify an ox! 
When the bullets kick the sand 
You can hear the sharp command -- 
”Forty-Second! At the double! Charge the rocks!” 
And the charge is like a hood 
When they warmed the Highland blood 
Of the Jocks!

1. A Grain of Desert Sand
2. That Half-Crown Sweep
3. Under the Shadow of Kiley’s Hill
4. The Rhyme of the O’Sullivan
5. The Rum Parade

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