Fiddler's Green
Halfway
down the road to Hell
In a shady meadow green
Are the souls of all dead Troopers camped
Near a good old-time canteen.
And this eternal resting place is
Known as Fiddler's Green.
Marching past straight through to Hell
The infantry are seen
Accompanied by the Engineers,
Artillery and Marines,
For none but the shades of Cavalrymen,
Dismount at Fiddlers Green.
Though some go curving down the trail
To seek a warmer scene,
No Trooper ever gets to Hell
'Ere he's emptied his canteen.
And rides back to drink again
With friends at Fiddler's Green.
And so when man and horse go down
Beneath a saber keen,
Or on a roaring charge of fierce melee
You stop a bullet clean,
And the hostiles come to get your scalp
Just empty your canteen
And put your pistol to your head
And go to Fiddler's Green.
-author unknown
