«_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 »
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