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Brian Miller & Randy Gosa
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The Heights of Alma
It was in september
The eighteenth day
In spite of the salt sea's dashing spray
We landed safe on the Crimea
Along our route to Alma
That night we lay on the cold cold ground
no peace no comfort could be found
and by the rain we were nearly drown
To cheer our hearts for Alma
Next morning when we did arise
beneath those gloomy Russian skies
Lord Raglan then our chieftan cries
'Prepare to march for Alma!'
And when the heights they hove in view
The strongest hearts it would subdue
To see that motley Russian crew
Upon the heights of Alma
The Scottish Greys were the first that came
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Their shots came o'er the heights like rain
But many the highland lass will mourn
For that days work at Alma
And the Twenty-Second Fusiliers
They gained the heights
and gave three chrees
With joy each Britans heart did cheer
'I burn ya sons at Alma'
So to Sevastopol the Russians fled
They left their dying and their dead
The rivers that day they did run red
WIth the blood that flowed at Alma
From orphan eyes the tears they rolled
No widows cries could ere control
A victory's price or human toll
For thousands died at Alma
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