With the sweat runnin' out o' your shirt-sleeves, an' the sun off the snow in your face, An' 'arf o' the men on the drag-ropes to hold the old gun in 'er place—'Tss! 'Tss! For you all love the screw-guns Smokin' my pipe on the mountings, sniffin' the mornin' cool, I climbs in my old brown gaiters along o' my old brown mule. The monkey can say what our road was goat 'e knows where we passed. Stand easy, you long-eared old darlin's! ropes! With shrapnel! -the wild Out drag Hold fast-'Tss! 'Tss! For you all love the screw-guns-the screw-guns they all love you! So when we take tea with a few guns, o' course You may hide in the caves, they'll be only your CELLS I'VE a head like a concertina: I've a tongue like a button-stick: I've a mouth like an old potato, and I'm more than a little sick, But I've had my fun o' the Corp'ral's Guard: I've made the cinders fly, And I'm here in the Clink for a thundering drink and blacking the Corporal's eye. With a second-hand overcoat under my head, O it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B. Mad drunk and resisting the Guard 'Strewth, but I socked it them hard! So it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B. I started o' canteen porter, I finished o' canteen beer, But a dose o' gin that a mate slipped in, it was that that brought me here. 'Twas that and an extry double Guard that rubbed my nose in the dirt; But I fell away with the Corp'ral's stock and the best of the Corp'ral's shirt. I left my cap in a public-house, my boots in the public road, And Lord knows where, and I don't care, my belt and my tunic goed; They'll stop my pay, they'll cut away the stripes I used to wear, But I left my mark on the Corp'ral's face, and I think he'll keep it there! My wife she cries on the barrack-gate, my kid in the barrack-yard, It ain't that I mind the Ord❜ly room-it's that that cuts so hard. I'll take my oath before them both that I will sure abstain, But as soon as I'm in with a mate and gin, I know With a second-hand overcoat under my head, Yes, it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B. So it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B. GUNGA DIN You may talk o' gin and beer When you're quartered safe out 'ere, An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it; You will do your work on water, An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it. Now in Injia's sunny clime, Where I used to spend my time A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen, The finest man I knew Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din. You limpin' lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din! Water, get it! Panee lao! 1 You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din.” The uniform 'e wore Was nothin' much before, 1 Bring water swiftly. An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind, For a piece o' twisty rag An' a goatskin water-bag Was all the field-equipment 'e could find. When the sweatin' troop-train lay In a sidin' through the day, Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl, We shouted "Harry By!"1 Till our throats were bricky-dry, Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all. It was "Din! Din! Din! You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been? You put some juldee 2 in it Or I'll marrow 3 you this minute If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!" 'E would dot an' carry one Till the longest day was done; An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear. If we charged or broke or cut, You could bet your bloomin' nut, 'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear. 4 With 'is mussick on 'is back, 'E would skip with our attack, An' watch us till the bugles made “Retire,” An' for all 'is dirty 'ide 'E was white, clear white, inside When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire! 1 Mr. Atkins's equivalent for "O brother." 2 Be quick. 3 Hit you, 4 Water-skin. |