So 'ark an' 'eed, you rookies, which is always grum blin' sore, There's worser things than marchin' from Umballa to Cawnpore; An' if your 'eels are blistered an' they feels to 'urt like 'ell, You drop some tallow in your socks an' that will make 'em well. For it's best foot first, . . We're marchin' on relief over Injia's coral strand, Eight 'undred fightin' Englishmen, the Colonel, and the Band; Ho! get away you bullock-man, you've 'eard the bugle blowed, There's a regiment a-comin' down the Grand Trunk Road; With its best foot first And the road a-sliding past, An' every bloomin' campin'-ground exactly like the last; While the Big Drum says, With 'is" rowdy-dowdy-dow!"— "Kiko kissywarsti don't you hamsher argy SHILLIN' A DAY My name is O'Kelly, I've heard the Revelly Lucknow and Etawah, And fifty-five more all endin' in "pore." Black Death and his quickness, the depth and the thickness, Of sorrow and sickness I've known on my way, But I'm old and I'm nervis, I'm cast from the Service, And all I deserve is a shillin' a day. (Chorus) Shillin' a day, Bloomin' good pay Lucky to touch it, a shillin' a day! Oh, it drives me half crazy to think of the days I Went slap for the Ghazi, my sword at my side, When we rode Hell-for-leather Both squadrons together, That didn't care whether we lived or we died. But it's no use despairin', my wife must go charin' An' me commissairin' the pay-bills to better, So if me you be'old In the wet and the cold, By the Grand Metropold, won't you give me a letter? (Full chorus) Give 'im a letter 'Can't do no better, Late Troop-Sergeant-Major an’— runs with a letter! Think what 'e's been, Think what 'e's seen, Think of his pension an' GAWD SAVE THE QUEEN. |