It was last Monday morning, as I have heard them say:
Our orders came that afternoon, we were to march away.
Oh the Lancashire lads have gone abroad, whatever shall we do
Leaving many a pretty maid to cry, What shall I do?
Says the mother to her daughter, What makes you talk so strange
To want to be a soldier's wife, the whole wide world to range.
Oh the soldiers they are rambling boys and have but little pay;
Can they maintain a wife and child on thirteen pence a day?
Says the mother to her daughter, Well, I'll have you close confined,
Oh, you'll never see that Lancashire Lad, he'll be no son of mine.
Oh, if you confine me seven long year and after set me free,
Well, I'll go and search for my Lancashire Lad when I gain my liberty.
My love he's dressed in scarlet, ay, he's turned up with the blue;
In every town that he goes through, my sweetheart he'll be true.
Oh, the Lancashire lads have gone abroad, whatever shall we do?
Leaving many a pretty maid to cry, What shall I do?
We've got sweethearts enough, brave boys, and girls to please our mind,
But we'll never forget sweet Manchester and the girls we've left behind.
Oh, the Lancashire lads have gone abroad, whatever shall we do?
Leaving many a pretty maid to cry, What shall I do?