Half a league half a league,
Half a league onward,
All to the valley of Charlton
Marched the six hundred:
'Forward, the TerryandMo Away!
Charge for the pub' he said:
Into the valley of Charlton
Marched the six hundred.
'Forward, the TerryandMo Away!'
Was there a man dismay'd ?
Not tho' the footsoldier knew
Some one had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do & die,
Into the valley of Charlton
Marched the six hundred.
Vodka to right of them,
Whisky to left of them,
Rum in front of them
Volley'd & chunder'd;
Pisshed with shots and smell,
Boldly they marched and scooped
Into the cocktails of Death
Into the mouths of all
Scooped the six hundred.
Flash'd all their erses bare,
Farted as they changed the air,
Savouring the happy hour there,
Charging a feckin bomb while
All around chundered:
Plunged in the cannabis smoke
Right thro' the queue they broke;
Smirnoff and Black Russians
Reeled from the sunstroke,
Shatter'd & scunner'd.
Then they Marched back, but not
Not the six hundred.
Vodka to right of them,
Whisky to left of them,
Carnage behind them
Trolley'd and chunder'd;
Stoked with shots and smell,
While hoarse & hero fell,
They that had drank so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder'd.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the TerryandMo Away
Noble six hundred.