Verses 1889-1896 | Page 9

an' done,
'E's a devil an' a ostrich an' a
orphan-child in one.
O the oont, O the oont, O the Gawd-forsaken oont!
The lumpy-'umpy
'ummin'-bird a-singin' where 'e lies,
'E's blocked the whole division
from the rear-guard to the front, An' when we get him up again -- the
beggar goes an' dies!
'E'll gall an' chafe an' lame an' fight -- 'e smells most awful vile; 'E'll
lose 'isself for ever if you let 'im stray a mile;
'E's game to graze the
'ole day long an' 'owl the 'ole night through, An' when 'e comes to
greasy ground 'e splits 'isself in two.
O the oont, O the oont, O the floppin', droppin' oont!
When 'is long
legs give from under an' 'is meltin' eye is dim, The tribes is up be'ind us,
and the tribes is out in front -- It ain't no jam for Tommy, but it's kites
an' crows for 'im.
So when the cruel march is done, an' when the roads is blind, An' when
we sees the camp in front an' 'ears the shots be'ind, Ho! then we strips
'is saddle off, and all 'is woes is past: 'E thinks on us that used 'im so,
and gets revenge at last.
O the oont, O the oont, O the floatin', bloatin' oont!
The late lamented
camel in the water-cut 'e lies;
We keeps a mile be'ind 'im an' we keeps
a mile in front, But 'e gets into the drinkin'-casks, and then o' course we
dies.

LOOT
If you've ever stole a pheasant-egg be'ind the keeper's back, If you've
ever snigged the washin' from the line,
If you've ever crammed a
gander in your bloomin' 'aversack, You will understand this little song
o' mine.
But the service rules are 'ard, an' from such we are debarred,
For the same with English morals does not suit.
(~Cornet~: Toot! toot!)
W'y, they call a man a robber if 'e stuffs 'is
marchin' clobber With the --
(~Chorus~) Loo! loo! Lulu! lulu! Loo!
loo! Loot! loot! loot!
Ow the loot!
Bloomin' loot!
That's the thing to make the boys git up
an' shoot!
It's the same with dogs an' men,
If you'd make 'em come again
Clap 'em forward with a Loo! loo! Lulu!
Loot!
(~ff~) Whoopee! Tear 'im, puppy! Loo! loo! Lulu! Loot! loot! loot!
If you've knocked a nigger edgeways when 'e's thrustin' for your life,
You must leave 'im very careful where 'e fell;
An' may thank your
stars an' gaiters if you didn't feel 'is knife That you ain't told off to 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