The Luck of the Mounted

O sing us a song of days that are gone - Of men and happenings - of war and peace; We love to yarn of th' times that was As our hair grows gray, and our years increase. So - revert we again to our ancient lays - Fill we our pipes, and our glasses raise - Salue! to those stirring, bygone days! Cry the old non-coms of the Mounted Police. MEMORIES