Two hundred times
the muffled drums have rolled,
two hundred times
the church bells have tolled
two hundred times
the bugle notes cried

two hundred times,
two hundred times,
two hundred times
our comrades have died.

The politicians come
and we gather round,
our Colonel smiles grimly
and stares at the ground
and the fine words they fly
but still we must die

and they dress up the reason,
they dress up the reason,
they dress up the reason
but don’t tell us why.

How many times the slow funeral tread
how many poppies to count up the dead
how many times for the families to mourn

and how many children, how many children
how many children still fatherless borne?

Yes the politicians come for an hour or two,
stand on a tank and talk to the crew,
promise we’ll have whatever we need
to get the job done so the people are freed

But their promises fall just like Autumn leaves
and the families are left, yes the families are left,
the families are left by the graveside to grieve.

We took the Queen’s Shilling
our country to serve,
we kept our faith
and we kept our nerve,
though the armour was thin
and the flak jackets few
still we were soldiers,
still we were soldiers,

still we were soldiers
our duty we knew.

How many times
must the muffled drums be rolled,
how many times
must the church bells be tolled,
how many times must the last post be played
and how many coffins, how many coffins,

how many coffins lowered down to the grave?