Verses 1889-1896 | Page 7

old brown mule, With seventy
gunners be'ind me, an' never a beggar forgets
It's only the pick of the
Army
that handles the dear little pets -- 'Tss! 'Tss!
For you all love the
screw-guns -- the screw-guns they all love you! So when we call round
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 can go where you please, you
can skid up the trees,
but you don't get away from the guns!

They sends us along where the roads are, but mostly we goes where
they ain't: We'd climb up the side of a sign-board an' trust to the stick o'
the paint: We've chivied the Naga an' Looshai, we've give the
Afreedeeman fits, For we fancies ourselves at two thousand,
we guns that are built in two bits -- 'Tss! 'Tss! For you all love the
screw-guns . . .
If a man doesn't work, why, we drills 'im an' teaches 'im 'ow to behave;
If a beggar can't march, why, we kills 'im an' rattles 'im into 'is grave.
You've got to stand up to our business an' spring without snatchin' or
fuss. D'you say that you sweat with the field-guns?
By God, you must lather with us -- 'Tss! 'Tss!
For you all love the
screw-guns . . .
The eagles is screamin' around us, the river's a-moanin' below, We're
clear o' the pine an' the oak-scrub,
we're out on the rocks an' the snow,
An' the wind is as thin as a
whip-lash what carries away to the plains The rattle an' stamp o' the
lead-mules --
the jinglety-jink o' the chains -- 'Tss! 'Tss!
For you all love the
screw-guns . . .
There's a wheel on the Horns o' the Mornin',
an' a wheel on the edge o' the Pit,
An' a drop into nothin' beneath you
as straight as a beggar can spit: 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 --
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