Come, each death-doing dog that dares venture his neck
Come, follow the hero that goes to Quebec
Jump aboard of the transports and loose every sail
Pay your debts at the tavern by giving leg-bail
And ye that love fighting shall soon have enough
Wolfe commands us, my boys, we shall give them Hot Stuff.
Up the River St Lawrence our troops shall advance
To the Grenadiers’ March we will teach them to dance
Cape Breton we’ve taken and next we will try
At their capital to give them another black eye.
Vaudreuil, ’tis in vain you pretend to look gruff
Those are coming who know how to give you Hot Stuff.
With powder in his periwig and snuff in his nose
Monsieur will run down our descent to oppose
And the Indians will come but the light infantry
Will soon compel them to betake to a tree
From such rascals as these may we fear a rebuff?
Advance, grenadiers and let fly your Hot Stuff.
When the forty-seventh regiment is dashing ashore
While bullets are whistling and cannon do roar
Says Montcalm those are Shirley’s, I know their lapels
You lie, says Ned Botwood, we are of Lascelles!
Though our clothing is changed, yet we scorn a powder-puff
So at you, ye bastards, here’s give you Hot Stuff.
A song by Ned Botwood, Sergeant of Grenadiers in the 47th Regiment, composed before they embarked for the expedition against Quebec. Tune: Lilies of France.