There was Babu Chuckerbutty, An' Amir Singh the Sikh, We 'adn't good regalia, An' our Lodge was old an' bare, It often strikes me thus, For monthly, after Labour, We'd all sit down and smoke (We dursn't give no banquits, Lest a Brother's caste were broke), An' man on man got talkin' Religion an' the rest, An' every man comparin' Of the God 'e knew the best. So man on man got talkin', An' not a Brother stirred Till mornin' waked the parrots An' we'd all ride 'ome to bed, Full oft on Guv'ment service To the Lodges east an' west, From Kohat to Singapore, I wish that I might see them, With my Mother Lodge once more! * Cigar-lighter. † Butler. + Pantry. Outside-"Sergeant! Sir! Salute! Salaam!" Inside-" Brother," an' it doesn't do no 'arm. We met upon the Level an' we parted on the Square, An' I was Junior Deacon in my Mother Lodge out there! "FOLLOW ME 'OME." THERE was no one like 'im, 'Orse or Foot, Nor any o' the Guns I knew; An' because it was so, why, o' course 'e went an' died, Which is just what the best men do. So it's knock out your pipes an' follow me! 'Is mare she neighs the 'ole day long, She paws the 'ole night through, An' she won't take 'er feed 'cause o' waitin' for 'is step, Which is just what a beast would do. 'Is girl she goes with a bombardier An' the banns are up in church, for she's got the beggar hooked, Which is just what a girl would do. We fought 'bout a dog-last week it were— But I strook 'im cruel 'ard, an' I wish I 'adn't now, Which is just what a man can't do. 'E was all that I 'ad in the way of a friend, But I'd give my pay an' stripe for to get the beggar back, Which it's just too late to do. So it's knock out your pipes an' follow me! Follow me-follow me 'ome! Take 'im away! 'E's gone where the best men go. Take 'im away! An' the gun-wheels turnin' slow. |