If you have come here hoping to find words to such classics as ‘British Grenadier’s or ‘Over the Hills and Far Away’, I’m afraid you will be disappointed.  Instead, what

you will find here is a collection of songs written by the Royals, for the Royals,

about the Royals.  They are crude, rude and sometimes lewd.  Despite all these

qualifications, they are known only to a handful of the men.  They are published

here, therefore, for the first time, so that all the men of the Royals may revel in

their glory and hopefully learn their words.  If you have any additions you would like

to suggest to any of these songs, they must pass our rigorous screening process (ie

are they funny when we’re drunk?) and then they will be added.  If you would like a

particular song parodied (“You guys should write a song to the tune of Scotland the

Brave) or would like to see a particular subject come up more often (“You guys don’t

make fun of Brad enough”), feel free to email us and we will curse your forward-thinking

nature.  Enjoy.



Royals Always Waiting


This is the song that started it all off.  It is a song of frustration at our being told

to hurry up and wait.  It is sung to the tune of Deutschland uber alles.   The chorus

is sung once through; it is then hummed with a spoken voice-over of the same words.

The chorus is then repeated by all assembled. 



Royals, Royals always waiting,

Standing, waiting in a line.

Standing, sweating, sweating, stinking,

Stinking like a herd of swine.

Royals, why are we always waiting?

Why must everything in life be so hard?


The Royals


Once we had finished writing Always Waiting, we knew our talents were fully developed.

It was time for a personalized song about the unit.  In keeping with our tradition,

it is self-mocking almost to the point of being painful to watch.  It is sung to the

tune of British Grenadiers. 


Some talk of our great leaders,

Tho’ none are all that good.

We follow all their orders,

But we’re not sure we should.

Of all the world’s great zeroes,

There’s none that can compare,

With a tow, row, row, row, row, row, row,

For the Royals.


Whene’er we are commanded,

To storm upon the field,

They bravely crouch behind us,

And use us as their shield.

Of all the world’s…


Now here’s our gallant Captain,

He’s almost always pissed.

We’ve often tried to shoot him,

But sadly always missed.

Of all the world’s…


And look, here is our Sergeant,

He’s really quite a site.

Don’t look below his waistline,

His pants are far too tight.

Of all the world’s…


And lo, our brave new corporal,

He walks with quite a swag,

Be sure not to stand near him,

He farts into a bag.

Of all the world’s…


Men of London


Of course, there were some failures along the way, and some songs that just never got

finished.  This is one such song.  Sung to the tune of Men of Harlech.  After two

verses about throwing up, it’s hard to go anywhere.  Feel free to suggest more

verses, however.


Men of London, stand ye easy,

We are always feeling queasy,

It must have been all that cheesy,

It was not the wine.


Hark, the sound, McGarry’s heaving,

Haul ass, John, the march is leaving.

“I’m fine,” says he, we’re disbelieving,

Kneel and carry on.


Vomitor and the Royals


In this song, we return once again to our Irish roots (well, John does anyway) with a

good, old song about drinking and being sick the next day.  The tune is also Irish,

Garryowen.  There’s about seventy-five verses, so hang on.  Historical note: The

character of Vomitor is a Celtic legend.  He is believed to be the fiend responsible

for loss of control of one’s drinking arm, as well as the obvious consequences the

following morning.  Either that or we made him up.


When I was young I had a mind,

To join a group both good and kind,

But such a band I did not find,

Instead I went to the Royals.



And with our wine we'll have some cheese,

And spend next morning on hands and knees,

While praying to God to save us, please,

From Vomitor and the Royals!


Their hygiene,moral and physic,

Is quite enough to make you sick,

For them a bath's a special trick,

They smell just like the Royals.




The CO's name is Captain Dick,

There's some that say he's rather thick,

To get a stripe just give a lick,

It's awkward but he likes it.




We have a sergeant, name of Brad,

He is, infact, a brand new dad,

And, of us all, his wife's most glad,

All that sex was boring.




Glenn got stripes through spite, ‘tis true,

Chris split the group, so he gets two,

John's got one, that’s more than you,

Howard's the one with blue hair.




And privates, we've got quite a few,

Some are old and some are new,

But new or old, none have a clue,

They don't deserve their own verse.




Who's pooched his gaiters? Private Bob,

And Private Mason's just a slob,

Private McKay to get the job,

Is sleeping with the corporal




Private Drouillard just recruits,

For his other unit with shiny boots,

And Private Kent just likes the suits,

They're better than the grey ones.




Tom and Andrew are father and son,

They march to the beat of a different drum,

Tom is smart but Andrew's dumb,

The white noise carries onwards.




Private Bill is always there,

Private Carla does not care,

Private Greg is really square,

But he's also very surly.




Private Larry we almost forgot,

Likewise good old Private Scott,

He's loud and boisterous! or not,

Oh yeah, there's Alex and Tyler.




You think me most cruelly tricked,

To have a group like this picked,

Such people evil, vile and wicked,

That also joined Royals.




I'll tell you true, my choice was clear,

With them around, I have no fear,

For the worst has already happened here,

And that's my tale of the Royals.



We’re the Best in Every Way


After several creations that were self-deprecating in the extreme, the pendulum had to

eventually swing the other way.  Hence, we are blessed with the following song.  Rather

than making fun of the unit and its members, this song, as its name suggests, is all

about the greatness of the Light Company of the Royal Scots.  As you may have guessed,

this is our first post-partum creation.  This does not mean that we in any way harbour

any ill feelings towards the Grenadier company of the Royals Scots (yeah, right).  Also,

please don’t send us angry emails pointing out that they Royals weren’t at the Battle of

the Plains of Abraham or that the Irish can’t be blamed for all our troubles because we

don’t care and yes they can.



O’er the land and o’er the sea,

The Royal Scots Light Company,

Are sent to fight and win the day,

‘Cause we’re the best in every way.


On Easter Day we took some flak,

For watching Pontius Pilate’s back,

We’re sure to go to Hell some day,

Tho’ we’re the best in every way.




We stormed the Plains of Abraham,

Montcalm’s men, they couldn’t stand.

They shouted as they ran away,

They’re the best in every way.




At Louisburg we stormed the fort,

We killed the French, ils sont tous mort,

We heard them shout as they died that day,

They’re the best in every way.




We went to the Caribbean

We were not there just sight seein

We kicked French ass by night and day,

‘Cause we’re the best in every way.




The eighty-ninth did join our march,

To Longwoods on the fourth of March,

They’re Irish so they lost the day,

Tho’ we’re the best in every way.




At Waterloo, none did their part,

We alone beat Bonaparte,

Then on to Paris straight away,

‘Cause we’re the best in every way.