I’ve walked the leafy lanes of England.
Climbed the daunting mountains of Wales.
I’ve sat cramped in Irish darkness,
whilst my Scot’s blood boiled.

I’ve lived like a cowboy, on the north American plains.
Drank for tomorrow, and the day after that.
I’ve listened to the rain as it crashed on tropical trees.
Tipped sand from my boots, while the sun browned my knees.

No shit, that’s the motto.
No dead, no wounded.
Jungle rules apply.
Duty fighter front and centre.

Not for flags.
Nor Kings.
Not for Queen nor country.
It’s for your mates.