Verses 1889-1896

Since August, when it started, it’s been stickin’ to our tail,
Though they’ve ‘ad us out by marches an’ they’ve ‘ad us back by rail;
But it runs as fast as troop-trains, and we cannot get away;
An’ the sick-list to the Colonel makes ten more to-day.

There ain’t no fun in women nor there ain’t no bite to drink;
It’s much too wet for shootin’, we can only march and think;
An’ at evenin’, down the nullahs, we can ‘ear the jackals say,
“Get up, you rotten beggars, you’ve ten more to-day!”

‘Twould make a monkey cough to see our way o’ doin’ things —
Lieutenants takin’ companies an’ captains takin’ wings,
An’ Lances actin’ Sergeants – eight file to obey —
For we’ve lots o’ quick promotion on ten deaths a day!

Our Colonel’s white an’ twitterly – ‘e gets no sleep nor food,
But mucks about in ‘orspital where nothing does no good.
‘E sends us ‘eaps o’ comforts, all bought from ‘is pay —
But there aren’t much comfort ‘andy on ten deaths a day.

Our Chaplain’s got a banjo, an’ a skinny mule ‘e rides,
An’ the stuff ‘e says an’ sings us, Lord, it makes us split our sides!
With ‘is black coat-tails a-bobbin’ to Ta-ra-ra Boom-der-ay!
‘E’s the proper kind o’ padre for ten deaths a day.

An’ Father Victor ‘elps ‘im with our Roman Catholicks —
He knows an ‘eap of Irish songs an’ rummy conjurin’ tricks;
An’ the two they works together when it comes to play or pray;
So we keep the ball a-rollin’ on ten deaths a day.

We’ve got the cholerer in camp – we’ve got it ‘ot an’ sweet;
It ain’t no Christmas dinner, but it’s ‘elped an’ we must eat.
We’ve gone beyond the funkin’, ‘cause we’ve found it doesn’t pay,
An’ we’re rockin’ round the Districk on ten deaths a day!

Then strike your camp an’ go, the Rains are fallin’,
The Bugle’s callin’!
The dead are bushed an’ stoned to keep ‘em safe below!
An’ them that do not like it they can lump it,
An’ them that cannot stand it they can jump it;
We’ve got to die somewhere – some way – some’ow —
We might as well begin to do it now!
Then, Number One, let down the tent-pole slow,
Knock out the pegs an’ ‘old the corners – so!
Fold in the flies, furl up the ropes, an’ stow!
Oh, strike – oh, strike your camp an’ go!
(Gawd ‘elp us!)

THE LADIES

I’ve taken my fun where I’ve found it;
I’ve rogued an’ I’ve ranged in my time;
I’ve ‘ad my pickin’ o’ sweet’earts,
An’ four o’ the lot was prime.
One was an ‘arf-caste widow,
One was a woman at Prome,
One was the wife of a jemadar-sais,                         [Head-groom.]
An’ one is a girl at ‘ome.

Now I aren’t no ‘and with the ladies,
For, takin’ ‘em all along,
You never can say till you’ve tried ‘em,
An’ then you are like to be wrong.
There’s times when you’ll think that you mightn’t,
There’s times when you’ll know that you might;
But the things you will learn from the Yellow an’ Brown,
They’ll ‘elp you a lot with the White!

I was a young un at ‘Oogli,
Shy as a girl to begin;
Aggie de Castrer she made me,
An’ Aggie was clever as sin;
Older than me, but my first un —
More like a mother she were —
Showed me the way to promotion an’ pay,
An’ I learned about women from ‘er!

Then I was ordered to Burma,
Actin’ in charge o’ Bazar,
An’ I got me a tiddy live ‘eathen
Through buyin’ supplies off ‘er pa.
Funny an’ yellow an’ faithful —
Doll in a teacup she were,
But we lived on the square, like a true-married pair,
An’ I learned about women from ‘er!

Then we was shifted to Neemuch
(Or I might ha’ been keepin’ ‘er now),
An’ I took with a shiny she-devil,
The wife of a nigger at Mhow;
‘Taught me the gipsy-folks’ bolee;                               [Slang.]
Kind o’ volcano she were,
For she knifed me one night ‘cause I wished she was white,
And I learned about women from ‘er!

Then I come ‘ome in the trooper,
‘Long of a kid o’ sixteen —
Girl from a convent at Meerut,
The straightest I ever ‘ave seen.
Love at first sight was ‘er trouble,