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"I was a-walkin' with my missus alongside the Serpentine in London, that is. There was swans sailin' on it, an' we was 'eavin' bits of bread to 'em. 'Fred, she says, 'you'll 'ave it beautiful for your regatta. You'll win, she says, 'the Stokers' Cutters, the Vet'rans' Skiff's, the Orficers' Gigs, an' the All-comers."
But there's one crew as I'll put my shirt on, an' that's the Orficers' Gigs." "'Ow about the Boys' Cutters?" demanded the Ship's Painter whose sovereign was in jeopardy. "An' the Vet'rans' Skiffs," echoed the Captain of the Forecastle, "what my wife mentioned? 'Fred, she says " "An' the All-comers," interrupted the Captain of the Side, "wiv the Chief Buffer coxin' the launch?"
When the Navy meets the Army, When the friend becomes the foe, When the sailor and the soldier Seek each other to o'erthrow; When old vet'rans, gray and grizzled, Elbow, struggle, push, and shove, That they may cheer on to vict'ry Each the service of his love; When the maiden, fair and dainty, Lets her dignity depart, And, all breathless, does her utmost For the team that's next her heart; When you see these strange things happen, Then we pray you to recall That the Army and Navy Stand firm friends beneath it all.
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