Bound fe Duty

Tramp, tramp, tramp, we go a-trampin’,
Pólicemen on duty boun’
From de Depôt to de city,
For dere’s racin’-time come roun’.

Wid our great cloaks buttoned round we,
Our best trampin’ boots all strong,
Kit-bags, helmet-bags in each hand,
We go merrily along.

Tramp, tramp, tramp, we go a-trampin’,
Stoutly marchin’ t’rough de rain;
Soon we’ll all be tucked quite snugly
In a corner o’ de train.

Our light hearts are filled wid gladness,
As we’re sweetly whirled away
From de station to de city,
For it means some extra pay.

Passin’ cane-fields all a-racin’,
Lush bananas coated blue,
We’re whirled onward to de city,
Where dere’s work for us to do.