Barrack-Room Ballads | Page 4

a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an'
sez, "We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar they
laughed an' giggled fit to die, I outs into the street again an' to myself
sez I:
O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away"; But it's
"Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play, The band
begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play, O it's "Thank you,
Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play.
I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian
room, but 'adn't none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the
music-'alls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in
the stalls!
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside"; But
it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide, The
troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide, O it's
"Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.
Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep Is
cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap; An' hustlin'
drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit Is five times better
business than paradin' in full kit.
Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"

But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll, The
drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll, O it's "Thin red
line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.
We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too, But
single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes
our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks
don't grow into plaster saints;
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind", But
it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind,
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind, O it's
"Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind.
You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all: We'll wait
for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the
cook-room slops, but prove it to our face The Widow's Uniform is not
the soldier-man's disgrace.
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"
But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot; An' it's
Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please; An' Tommy
ain't a bloomin' fool -- you bet that Tommy sees!
Fuzzy-Wuzzy
(Soudan Expeditionary Force)
We've fought with many men acrost the seas,
An' some of 'em was
brave an' some was not:
The Paythan an' the Zulu an' Burmese;
But
the Fuzzy was the finest o' the lot.
We never got a ha'porth's change
of 'im:
'E squatted in the scrub an' 'ocked our 'orses,
'E cut our
sentries up at Suakim,
An' 'e played the cat an' banjo with our forces.

So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome in the Soudan; You're a
pore benighted 'eathen but a first-class fightin' man; We gives you your
certificate, an' if you want it signed We'll come an' 'ave a romp with
you whenever you're inclined.

We took our chanst among the Khyber 'ills,
The Boers knocked us
silly at a mile,
The Burman give us Irriwaddy chills,
An' a Zulu
impi dished us up in style:
But all we ever got from such as they

Was pop to what the Fuzzy made us swaller;
We 'eld our bloomin'
own, the papers say,
But man for man the Fuzzy knocked us 'oller.

Then 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an' the missis and the kid; Our orders
was to break you, an' of course we went an' did. We sloshed you with
Martinis, an' it wasn't 'ardly fair; But for all the odds agin' you,
Fuzzy-Wuz, you broke the square.
'E 'asn't got no papers of 'is own,
'E 'asn't got no medals nor rewards,

So we must certify the skill 'e's shown
In usin' of 'is long
two-'anded swords:
When 'e's 'oppin' in an' out among the bush

With 'is coffin-'eaded shield an' shovel-spear,
An 'appy day with
Fuzzy on the rush
Will last an 'ealthy Tommy for a year.
So 'ere's to
you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an' your friends which are no more, If we 'adn't lost
some messmates we would 'elp you to deplore; But give an' take's the
gospel, an' we'll call the bargain fair, For if you 'ave lost more than us,
you crumpled up the square!
'E rushes at the smoke when we let drive,
An', before we know, 'e's
'ackin' at our 'ead;
'E's all 'ot sand an' ginger when alive,
An' 'e's
generally shammin' when 'e's dead.
'E's a daisy, 'e's a ducky, 'e's a
lamb!
'E's a injia-rubber idiot on the spree,
'E's