In merry month of May,
When bees from flower to flower did hum,
Soldiers through the town marched gay,
And the villagers ran to the sound of the drum.

The cobbler he's thrown down his awl,
With last and apron he has done,
Left wax and thread for powder ball,
He's left it all to follow the drum.

The tailor he got off his board,
And said he'd wallop his foes, Good Lord,
When he's left his bodkin for a sword,
And gone with the rest to follow the drum.

Robin swore he'd leave the plough,
His team and furrow just begun,
With country life he'd had enow,
He'd leave it all and follow the drum.

Three old dames, the one was lame.
Another blind, a third nigh dumb,
They said it was a burning shame
That they couldn't go and follow the drum.

In the merry month of May,
When bees from flower to flower did hum,
Soldiers through the town marched gay,
And the villagers ran to the sound of the drum.