I had three Brothers,
Harold and Robert and James,
All of them tall and handsome,
All of them good at games.
And I was allowed to field for them,
To bowl to them, to score:
I was allowed to slave for them
For ever and evermore.
Oh, I was allowed to fetch and carry
For my Three Brothers,
Jim and Bob and Harry.

All of my brothers,
Harry and Jim and Bob,
Grew up to be good and clever,
Each of them at his job.
And I was allowed to wait on them,
To be their slave complete.
I was allowed to work for them,
And life for me was sweet,
For I was allowed to fetch and carry
For my Three Brothers,
Jim and Bob and Harry.

Jim went out to South Africa,
Bob went out to Ceylon.
Harry went out to New Zealand
And settled in Wellington.
And the grass grew high on the cricket pitch,
And the tennis court went to hay,
And the place was too big and too silent
After they went away.
So I turned it into a Guest House
After our parents died,
And I wrote to the boys every Sunday,
And once a year they replied.
All of them married eventually,
I wrote to their wives, of course,
And their wives wrote back on postcards -
Well... it might have been very much worse.

And now I have nine nieces,
Most of them home at school.
I have them all to stay here
For the holidays as a rule.
And I am allowed to slave for them,
To do odd jobs galore.
I am allowed to work for them,
And life is sweet once more,
For I am allowed to fetch and carry
For the children of Jim and Bob and Harry.