STAY your hasty hands, my comrades,
⁠I must speak to you again;
For you beat de dog 'dout mussy,
⁠An' dey are we night-time frien'.
Treat dem kindly, treat dem kindly,
⁠For dey are God's creatures too;
You have no more claim, dear comrades,
⁠On de earth dan what dey do.

'Cos you locked him up in barracks
⁠T'rough some failin' point o' his,
You mus' beatin' him so badly
⁠For de little carelessness ?
Treat dem kindly, etc.

When de hours are cold an' dreary,
⁠An' I'm posted on me beat,
An' me tired heavy body
⁠Weighs upon me weary feet;

When I think of our oppressors
⁠Wid mixed hatred an' don'-care,
An' de ugly miau of tom-puss
⁠Rings out sharply on de air,