Barrack-Room Ballads | Page 6

what our road was --
the wild-goat 'e knows where we passed.
Stand easy, you long-eared
old darlin's!
Out drag-ropes! With shrapnel! 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 will know what to do -- hoo! hoo! Jest send in your Chief
an' surrender --
it's worse if you fights or you runs:
You may hide in the caves, they'll
be only your graves,
but you can't get away from the guns!

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,
And a beautiful view of the yard,
O it's pack-drill for me
and a fortnight's C.B.
For "drunk and resisting the Guard!"
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.
For "drunk and
resisting the Guard."
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 I'll do it again!
With a second-hand overcoat under my head,
And a beautiful view of
the yard,
Yes, it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B.
For
"drunk and resisting the Guard!"
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.
For "drunk and resisting the Guard."

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;
But when it comes to
slaughter
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,

Of all them blackfaced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our
regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.
He was "Din! Din! Din!
You limpin' lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!
Hi! slippery hitherao!
Water, get it! Panee lao!
You squidgy-nosed
old idol, Gunga Din."
The uniform 'e wore
Was nothin' much before,
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!"
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 in it
Or I'll marrow 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.
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!
It was "Din! Din! Din!"
With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the
green.
When the cartridges ran out,
You could hear the front-files shout,

"Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"
I shan't forgit the night
When I dropped be'ind the fight
With a
bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been.
I was chokin' mad with
thirst,
An' the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin',
gruntin' Gunga Din.
'E lifted up my 'ead,
An' he plugged me where I
bled,
An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water-green:
It was crawlin' and it
stunk,
But of all the drinks I've drunk,
I'm gratefullest to one from
Gunga Din.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen;
'E's chawin' up the ground,
An' 'e's kickin' all around:
For Gawd's
sake git the water, Gunga Din!"
'E carried me away
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