In Paris Town, in Paris Town—'twas neath an April sky—

I saw a regiment of the line go marching to Versailles;

When white along the Bois there shone the chestnut's waxen cells,

And the sun was winking on the long Lebels,

Flic flac, flic flac, on all the long Lebels!

The flowers were out along the Bois, the leaves were overhead,

And I saw a regiment of the line that swung in blue and red;

The youth of things, the joy of things, they made my heart to beat,

And the quick-step lilting and the tramp of feet!

Flic flac, flic flac, the tramping of the feet!

The spikÉd nuts have fallen and the leaf is dull and dry

Since last I saw a regiment go marching to Versailles;

And what's become of all of those that heard the music play?

They trained them for the Frontier upon an August day;

Flic flac, flic flac, all on an August day!

And some of them they stumbled on the slippery summer grass,

And there they've left them lying with their faces to Alsace;

The others—so they'd tell you—ere the chestnut's decked for Spring,

Shall march beneath some linden trees to call upon a King;

Flic flac, flic flac, to call upon a King.