The text, to a popular pre-existing tune, was purported to be written by one Sergeant Ned Botwood of the 47th Regiment, during the campaign to take Quebec (which he did not survive) in 1759. First recorded in 1774, some commentators doubt whether Botwood actually existed. The song has details which add veracity, but even if it is too colourful to be true, it shews what was believed credible in a near-contemporary account: a revealing example of the British serviceman adapting songs to his purpose and not rehearsing an unrelieved repertoire of The British Grenadiers and Britons Strike Home (Bonduca).

Lyrics: Edward "Ned" Botwood

Come, each death-doing dog who dares venture his neck;
Come, follow the hero that goes to Quebec:
Jump aboard of the transports and let loose ev'ry sail,
Pay your debts at the tavern by giving leg-bail;
And ye that love fighting will soon have enough,
Wolfe commands us, my boys; we shall give them hot stuff.

Up the River St Lawrence our troops shall advance,
To The Grenadiers' March we will teach them to dance.
Cape Breton we've taken, and next we will try
At their capital to give them another black eye.
Vaudreuil, 'tis in vain you pretend to look gruff;
Those are coming who know how to give you hot stuff.

With powder in his periwig and snuff in his nose,
Monsieur will run down, our descent to oppose,
And the Indians will come, but the Light Infantry
Will soon oblige them to betake to a tree:
From such rascals as these may we fear a rebuff?
Advance grenadiers, and let fly your hot stuff.

When the Forty-seventh Regiment is dashing ashore,
While bullets are whistling and cannon do roar,
Says Montcalm: "Those are Shirley's, I know the lapels",
"You lie", says Ned Botwood, "we belong to Lascelles',
Though our clothing is changed, yet we scorn a powder-puff,
So at you, you bastards, here's giving you hot stuff".

With Monkton and Townshend, those brave brigadiers,
I think we shall soon have the town 'bout their ears;
And when we have done with the mortars and guns,
If you please, Madam Abbess, a word with your nuns:
Each soldier shall enter the convent in buff,
And then, never fear, we will give them hot stuff.