Barrack-Room Ballads | Page 8

bury
'im as well.
Then the sweatin' Tommies wonder as they spade the
beggars under Why lootin' should be entered as a crime;
So if my
song you'll 'ear, I will learn you plain an' clear 'Ow to pay yourself for
fightin' overtime.
(Chorus) With the loot, . . .
Now remember when you're 'acking round a gilded Burma god
That
'is eyes is very often precious stones;
An' if you treat a nigger to a
dose o' cleanin'-rod
'E's like to show you everything 'e owns.
When
'e won't prodooce no more, pour some water on the floor Where you
'ear it answer 'ollow to the boot
(Cornet: Toot! toot!) --
When the ground begins to sink, shove your
baynick down the chink, An' you're sure to touch the --
(Chorus) Loo!
loo! Lulu! Loot! loot! loot!
Ow the loot! . . .
When from 'ouse to 'ouse you're 'unting, you must always work in pairs
-- It 'alves the gain, but safer you will find --
For a single man gets
bottled on them twisty-wisty stairs,
An' a woman comes and clobs 'im
from be'ind.
When you've turned 'em inside out, an' it seems beyond a
doubt As if there weren't enough to dust a flute
(Cornet: Toot! toot!) --
Before you sling your 'ook, at the 'ousetops
take a look,
For it's underneath the tiles they 'ide the loot.
(Chorus)
Ow the loot! . . .
You can mostly square a Sergint an' a Quartermaster too,
If you only
take the proper way to go;
I could never keep my pickin's, but I've
learned you all I knew -- An' don't you never say I told you so.
An'
now I'll bid good-bye, for I'm gettin' rather dry,
An' I see another
tunin' up to toot
(Cornet: Toot! toot!) --
So 'ere's good-luck to those that wears the
Widow's clo'es, An' the Devil send 'em all they want o' loot!
(Chorus)

Yes, the loot,
Bloomin' loot!
I n the tunic an' the mess-tin an' the boot!
It's the same with dogs an' men,
If you'd make 'em come again
(fff) Whoop 'em forward with a Loo! loo! Lulu!
Loot! loot! loot!
Heeya! Sick 'im, puppy! Loo! loo! Lulu!
Loot! loot! loot!
'Snarleyow'
This 'appened in a battle to a batt'ry of the corps
Which is first among
the women an' amazin' first in war;
An' what the bloomin' battle was I
don't remember now,
But Two's off-lead 'e answered to the name o'
Snarleyow.
Down in the Infantry, nobody cares;
Down in the Cavalry, Colonel 'e
swears;
But down in the lead with the wheel at the flog
Turns the
bold Bombardier to a little whipped dog!
They was movin' into action, they was needed very sore,
To learn a
little schoolin' to a native army corps,
They 'ad nipped against an
uphill, they was tuckin' down the brow, When a tricky, trundlin'
roundshot give the knock to Snarleyow.
They cut 'im loose an' left 'im -- 'e was almost tore in two -- But he tried
to follow after as a well-trained 'orse should do; 'E went an' fouled the
limber, an' the Driver's Brother squeals: "Pull up, pull up for Snarleyow
-- 'is head's between 'is 'eels!"
The Driver 'umped 'is shoulder, for the wheels was goin' round, An'
there ain't no "Stop, conductor!" when a batt'ry's changin' ground; Sez
'e: "I broke the beggar in, an' very sad I feels,
But I couldn't pull up,
not for you -- your 'ead between your 'eels!"
'E 'adn't 'ardly spoke the word, before a droppin' shell
A little right
the batt'ry an' between the sections fell;
An' when the smoke 'ad

cleared away, before the limber wheels, There lay the Driver's Brother
with 'is 'ead between 'is 'eels.
Then sez the Driver's Brother, an' 'is words was very plain, "For Gawd's
own sake get over me, an' put me out o' pain."
They saw 'is wounds
was mortial, an' they judged that it was best, So they took an' drove the
limber straight across 'is back an' chest.
The Driver 'e give nothin' 'cept a little coughin' grunt,
But 'e swung 'is
'orses 'andsome when it came to "Action Front!" An' if one wheel was
juicy, you may lay your Monday head
'Twas juicier for the niggers
when the case begun to spread.
The moril of this story, it is plainly to be seen:
You 'avn't got no
families when servin' of the Queen --
You 'avn't