Oh, the sons of the prophets were hearty and bold And quite unaccustomed to fear. But the bravest of all is a man I am told Named Abdul Al Bobo Amir. If they wanted a man to encourage the band, Or to harass the foe in the rear, Or to storm a redoubt, they would send up a shout For Abdul Al Bobo Amir. There were heroes aplenty and men known to fame That fought in the ranks of the Czar. The most famous of all was a man by the name Of Ivan Skezevinski Skevar. He could sing like Caruso both tenor and bass And play on the Spanish guitar. In fact quite the cream of the Muscovite team Was Ivan Skezevinski Skevar. One day this bold Muscovite shouldered his gun And marched down the street with a sneer. He was looking for fun when he happened to run Into Abdul Al Bobo Amir. “Young man,” said Bobo, “is existence so dull That you’re anxious to end your career? For, infidel know, you have trod on the toe Of Abdul Al Bobo Amir. “Then take your last look at the sunset and brook, And send your regrets to the Czar. By this I imply you are going to die, Mister Ivan Skezevinski Skevar.” Then the Moabite drew his trusty shaboo And crying, “Allah al Allah ackbar!” With murderous intent he most suddenly went For Ivan Skezevinski Skevar. On a stone by the banks where the Nebo doth roam There is written in characters clear: “Oh stranger, remember to pray for the soul Of Abdul Al Bobo Amir.” And the Muscovite maiden her vigil doth keep By the light of the cold northern star. And the name which she constantly shouts in her sleep Is Ivan Skezevinski Skevar.
My father learned this song in scouts and still sings it to his grandchildren.