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, Oh, it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B. So it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B. I started o' canteen porter, I finished o' canteen beer, But a dose o' gin that a mate slipped in, it was 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. L 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 Yes, it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B. So it's pack-drill with me and a fortnight's C.B. 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 limping lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din! Hi! slippery hitherao! Water, get it! Panee lao!1 You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din.' The uniform 'e wore Was nothin' much before, 1 Bring water swiftly. 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!' 1 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 2 in it Or I'll marrow you this minute 3 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. |