Weren't they the fine boys
You never seen the beat of them
They went singing out to battle
With their throats bronze bare
They were fighting fit and mirth mad
There was music in the steppin'
Singing down a long white road all the afternoon
And it only seems like yesterday
That great glad sight o'them
Singing on to the battle as the sky grew black and black
Strangers in a strange land
Miles and miles and miles of them
Now, you just whistle Tipperary
And it all comes back

If you ever dirve the motorway
From Paris to Calais
And you're not in any rush to move along
Just take a little side trip through the green & the rolling hills
Out by Vimy, Pachendale and through the Somme
Stop your care and stand a while
And listen to the wind
And you just might hear it sing the soldier's song
Or the muffled marching feet
And a ghostly army singing this old song
Chorus:
Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag
And smile, smile, smile
While you've a Lucifer to light your fag
Smile, boys, that's the style
What's the use of worrying, it never was worthwhile
Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag
And smile, smile, smile

All the hills are peaceful now, but the graveyards tell the tale
And they stretch their silent crosses far and wide
It was 1916 in July when madness walked the land
Both friend and foe had God upon their side
And the young me of the Kaiser's, they were dug in well and deep
And the write that lay around them never fell
Silently they waited for the waves of men to come
That comtemptible little army bound for hell

The "Old Contemptibles", the British expeditionary force
Along 18 lines of trenches, waited for the word
And all week their own big guns roared above their heads
This will be a cakewalk boys, the German wire is down
We'll walk across the mud and count the Kaiser's dead

Chorus:
It's a long way to Tipperary
It's a long way to go
It's a long way to Tipperary
To the sweetest girl I know
Goodbye, Picadilly
Farewell Leicester Square
It's a long, long way to Tipperary
But my heart lies here
It was sever in the morning & the whistles sounded shrill
Fix bayonets and take her nice and slow
There was silence for a moment as they started their advance
Two hundred thousand dead mean row on row
Then the chatter of machine guns and the screams of dying men
Will always liniger there behind the Somme
Now a few old men remember and they gather once a year
To drink their health and sing as these old songs

Repeat Both Choruses