“Forward the Tight Brigade!
Down with the serving maid.”
O! What a frightful raid,
But where was the soda?
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to drink neat rye,
Theirs but to booze and die.
Over the counter
Lolled the Six Hundred.

Bottles to the right of them.
Bottles to the left of them
Bottles in front of them
Whisky and Brandy.
Stormed through the Public Bar
Straight through the Cocktail Bar
But ere they’d reached too far
In came the Landlord.

Flashed all their bottles bare
Flashed as they turned in air
Braining the Landlord there
Scavenging a pub while
All the world wondered
Plunged through the opium smoke
Right through the bar they broke
Landlord and Barmaid
Reeled from the bottlestroke
Shattered and sundered
Then they staggered back
The groggy Six Hundred.

Then they withdrew their men
But could they drive home again?
Everyone wondered
For all that they saw was double
And this added to their trouble
Sinful Six Hundred!