I've been singing this version from Barrett for several years - but it is a bit anti-gallic.

Drink Little England Dry

Drink, my boys, and ne'er give o'er
Drink until you can't drink no more
For the Frenchmen are coming for a fresh supply
And they swear they'll drink little England Dry
Paddie, widdie, waddie, widdie, bow, wow, wow
Paddie, widdie, waddie, widdie, bow, wow, wow
For the Frenchmen are coming for a fresh supply
And they swear they'll drink little England Dry

They may come , the frogs of France
But we'll teach them a new-fashioned dance
For we'll pepper their jackets most ter-ri-bully
Afore they'll drink little England dry
Paddie, widdie, waddie, widdie, bow, wow, wow
Paddie, widdie, waddie, widdie, bow, wow, wow
For we'll pepper their jackets most ter-ri-bully
Afore they'll drink little England dry

They may come as they may think
But they shall fight afore they drink
For the guns they shall rattle and the bullets they shall fly
Afore they'll drink little England dry
Paddie, widdie, waddie, widdie, bow, wow, wow
Paddie, widdie, waddie, widdie, bow, wow, wow
For the guns they shall rattle and the bullets they shall fly
Afore they'll drink little England dry

Then drink, my boys, and ne-er give oer
Drink until you can't drink no more
For the Frenchmen's brags are all my eye
And they'll never drink little England dry
Paddie, widdie, waddie, widdie, bow, wow, wow
Paddie, widdie, waddie, widdie, bow, wow, wow
For the Frenchmen's brags are all my eye
And they'll never drink little England dry

William Barret, English Folk Songs, London: Novello (1891) p. 20 'Written at the time of the threatened invasion of England by Napoleon, 1800'

Martin Graebe