I was born amid the noise of battle.
A drum roll is music to my ears.
Fearlessly I march on to glory.
Homeland and victory, that's my refrain.
I'm the man who raised her like that.
You wouldn't find a duchess behaving this way.
It was a happy day when providence delivered you into my arms,
when your cries broke the silence in our camps and bivouacs.
Each of you was a loving father, who happily carried me on his shoulders.
A true military girl, my cradle was your pack.
- Where you slept peacefully... - Where I slept soundly...
...to the sweet sound of the drums.
But now I'm grown up they all salute me.
It's an order, all your fathers must show respect.
In celebrations or battles I take the field of honour.
Giving courage to the wounded or shaking the victors hand.
Then in the mess, of an evening, who cheers you with her song?
Who is it who cheers us up?
Blimey! It's our child again.
So to test my skills in the regiment
I was put in charge of the mess.
A unanimous decision.
I think, if I had to, I'd march into battle.
I'd brave the gunshot and fight like you.
They say you take after your father. I take after mine.
I'd march, I'd fight.
Forward, it's the regimental cry.
I was born amid the noise of battle.
A drum roll is music to my ears.
Rat-a-tat...