^^^        E              B7 
  Some tell me 'tis a burnin' shame 
      E 
  To make the naygers fight,
        B7               E
  And that the trade of bein' kilt 
     A        B7       E
  Belongs but to the white.
      A            E       7
  But as for me, upon my soul! 
      A              E   (7)
  So lib'ral are we here,
        A                    E
  I'll let Sambo be shot instead of myself 
     B7                E
  On ev'ry day in the year.
  
  B7  E 
  On ev'ry day in the year, boys, 
          A     F#7         B7
  And in ev'ry hour in the day,
        E                      A        E
  The right to be kilt I'll divide wid him, 
  
  And devil a word I'll say.
  
  In battle's wild commotion, 
  I shouldn't at all object,
  If Sambo's body should stop a ball 
  That's coming for me direct;
  And the prod of a Southern bagnet [Bayonet]
  So ginerous are we here,
  I'll resign and let Sambo take it 
  On every day in the year.
  
  On ev'ry day in the year, boys, 
  And wid none 'iv your nasty pride,
  All my right in a Southern bagnet prod 
  Wid Sambo I'll divide.
  
  The men who object to Sambo 
  Should take his place and fight;
  And it's better to have a nayger's hue 
  Than a liver that's wake and white.
  Though Sambo's black as the ace of spades, 
  His fingers a trigger can pull,
  And his eye runs straight on the barrel sight, 
  From under his thatch of wool.
  
  On ev'ry day in the year, boys, 
  Don't think that I'm tippin' you chaff,
  The right to be kilt we'll divide with him, boys, 
  And give him the largest half.
  
  [Private Miles O'Riley, music by S. Lover]