Those heroes of antiquity ne'er saw a cannonball
Nor knew the force of powder to slay their foes withal
But our brave boys do know it
And banish all their fears
Sing tow row row, row row row
For the British Grenadiers!

Whene'er we're commanded to storm the palisades
Our leaders march with fuses and we with hand grenades
We throw them from the glacis
About the enemy's ears
Sing tow row row, row row row
For the British Grenadiers!

And when the siege is over, we to the town repair
The townsmen cry "Hurrah, boys, here comes a Grenadier!
Here come the Grenadiers, my boys,
Who know no doubts nor fears!"
Sing tow row row, row row row
For the British Grenadiers!

Then let us fill a bumper and drink a health to those
Who carry caps and pouches and wear the louped clothes
May they and their commanders
Live happy all their years
With a tow row row, row row row
For the British Grenadiers!

--G.
-><-
Benjamin D. Hutchins, Co-Founder, Editor in Chief, Netadmin
Eyrie Productions, Unlimited http://www.eyrie-productions.com/

Blessed be.
-n
(Here's fourty shillings on the drum/To those who've volunteered to come/To 'list and fight the foe today/Over the hills and far away/O'er the hills and o'er the main/Through Flanders, Portugal and Spain/The King commands and we obey/Over the hills and far away/When duty calls me I must go/To stand and face another foe/To battle we will always stray/Over the hills and far away/O'er the hills and o'er the main/Through Flanders, Portugal and Spain/The King commands and we obey/Over the hills and far away/If I should fall to fight no more/As many comrades did before/Then ask the fifes and drums to play/Over the hills and far away/O'er the hills and o'er the main/Through Flanders, Portugal and Spain/The King commands and we obey/Over the hills and far away/Then fall in, lads, behind the drum/With colors blazing like the sun/Along the road, to come what may/Over the hills and far away/O'er the hills and o'er the main/Through Flanders, Portugal and Spain/The King commands and we obey/Over the hills and far away/)

Some talk of Molson's Export, and some of Genesee's
Of Pabst and Schiltz and Golden, and such great beers as these.
But of all the world's great lagers, there's none that can come near
To the brown, disgusting vileness, of the Brutish Viking Beer.

(for several more verses, check out http://members.tripod.com/~bardic_circle/bvbeer.htm )

-- Bob
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And she'll have fun, fun, fun 'til her daddy takes the T. Rex away...