I'll be a sergeant, an orderly sergeant,
I'll be a sergeant, on that just bet your life;
I'll make the boys so sick of drillin on the double quick,
They'll be glad to turn in, to dream of a wife.

For the girls, they must love and adore us,
Who fight for the country that bore us,
And happy we shall be, if they kiss you and me,
When we come marching home.
Marching home, marching home, marching home,
Marching home to the roll of the drum,
When peace shall call us back from the camp and the bivouac,
And the drum taps, "Marching home."

She sha'nt be cap'n, that must not happen,
She sha'nt be cap'n, but play the second fife;
We can bear the colors best,
She shall wear them on her breast,
Salute us, and "dress," and in short be our wife.

Should I be col'nel, gazetted in the journal,
Oh, should I be colonel, to lead in the strife,
For her sake, so proud I'd be,
And let every rebel see
How a man can fight for a flag and a wife!

For, dear girls, we soldiers adore you;
Make us brave through you love, we implore you!
Then happy we shall be
To bend the suppliant knee,
When we come marching home.
Marching home, marching home, marching home,
Marching home to the roll of the drum,
The, freed from war's alarms,
To you we'll yield our arms,
When the drum taps, "Marching home!"