Enter

Tramp, Tramp, Tramp

Performer: George F. Root
[A]In my prison cell I sit,
thinking, [D]mother, dear, of [A]you,
and our bright and happy home so far a[E]way  
And my [A]eyes they fill with tears,
'spite of [D]all that I can [A]do,  
though I try to cheer my [E]comrades and be [A]gay.

[A]Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!

The boys are marching;
[E]cheer up, [A]comrades, they will [E]come.
And be[A]neath the starry flag
we shall [D]breathe the air a[A]gain
Of the [D]free land in [E]our own beloved [A]home.

[A]In the battle front we stood,
when their [D]fiercest charge they [A]made,
and they swept us off a hundred men or [E]more
But be[A]fore we reached their lines,
they were [D]beaten back, dis[A]mayed,
and we heard the cry of [E]vict'ry o'er and [A]o'er.

[A]Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!

The boys are marching;
[E]cheer up, [A]comrades, they will [E]come.
And be[A]neath the starry flag
we shall [D]breathe the air a[A]gain
Of the [D]free land in [E]our own beloved [A]home.

[A]So within the prison cell,
we are [D]waiting for the [A]day,
that shall come to open wide the iron [E]door
And the [A]hollow eye grows bright,
and the [D]poor heart almost [A]gay,
as we think of seeing [E]home and friends once [A]more.

[A]Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!

The boys are marching;
[E]cheer up, [A]comrades, they will [E]come.
And be[A]neath the starry flag
we shall [D]breathe the air a[A]gain
Of the [D]free land in [E]our own beloved [A]home.

In my prison cell I sit,
thinking, mother, dear, of you,
and our bright and happy home so far away
And my eyes they fill with tears,
'spite of all that I can do,
though I try to cheer my comrades and be gay.

Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!

The boys are marching;
cheer up, comrades, they will come.
And beneath the starry flag
we shall breathe the air again
Of the free land in our own beloved home.

In the battle front we stood,
when their fiercest charge they made,
and they swept us off a hundred men or more
But before we reached their lines,
they were beaten back, dismayed,
and we heard the cry of vict'ry o'er and o'er.

Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!

The boys are marching;
cheer up, comrades, they will come.
And beneath the starry flag
we shall breathe the air again
Of the free land in our own beloved home.

So within the prison cell,
we are waiting for the day,
that shall come to open wide the iron door
And the hollow eye grows bright,
and the poor heart almost gay,
as we think of seeing home and friends once more.

Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!

The boys are marching;
cheer up, comrades, they will come.
And beneath the starry flag
we shall breathe the air again
Of the free land in our own beloved home.

Chords

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