It was last Monday morning,
I heard them call and say,
The orders came this afternoon,
we’re bound to march away.
For the Lancashire lads have gone abroad,
whatever shall we do?
They’re leaving may a pretty fair maid to cry, what shall I do?
Said the mother to the daughter,
what makes you talk so strange.
That you want to marry a soldier lad, the whole wide world to range.
For soldiers they are ramblin’ boys, they have but little pay.
Can they maintain a wife and child on sixteen pence a day?
Said the father to the daughter,
"I’ll have you close confined.
You’ll never marry a soldier lad, he’ll be no son of mine.
If you confine me seven long years and after set me free,
I’ll go and find my soldier lad when I gain my liberty.
My true loved dressed in scarlet
and turned up with the blue
And every place the he goes in my sweetheart is true.
For they have sweethearts enough, me boys, and girls to please their minds,
But I’ll never forget sweat Manchester, the girls they left behind.