The Tarpaulin Jacket
Composer(s): G.J. Whyte-Melville - Charles Coote



A tall stalwart lancer lay dying
And as on his deathbed did lay
To his friends who around him were sighing
These last dying words he did say

Wrap me up in my tarpaulin jacket
And say a poor buffer lies low
And six six stalwart lancers shall carry me
With steps solemn, mournful and slow

Had I the wings of a little dove
Far away I would fly, I'd fly
Start for the arms of my true lover
And there I would lay me and die

Then get you two little white tombstones
Put them at my head and my toe, my toe
And get you a penknife and scratch there
'Here lies a poor buffer below'

And get you six brandies and sodas
And set them all out in a row, a row
And get you six jolly good fellows
To drink to this buffer below

And then in the calm of the twilight
When the soft winds are whispering low, so low
And the darkening shadows are falling
Sometimes think of this buffer below