Classic Poem

My pretty little pink, I once did think
That you and I would marry,
But now I've lost all hopes of that,
I can no longer tarry.

I've got my knapsack on my back,
My musket on my shoulder,
To march away to Quebec Town,
To be a gallant soldier.

Where coffee grows on a white-oak tree,
And the rivers flow with brandy,
Where the boys are like a lump of gold,
And the girls as sweet as candy.