Verses 1889-1896 Part 5

Troopin', troopin', winter's round again!

See the new draf's pourin' in for the old campaign; Ho, you poor recruities, but you've got to earn your pay -- What's the last from Lunnon, lads? We're goin' there to-day.

Troopin', troopin', give another cheer -- 'Ere's to English women an' a quart of English beer.

The Colonel an' the regiment an' all who've got to stay, Gawd's mercy strike 'em gentle -- Whoop! we're goin' 'ome to-day.

We're goin' 'ome, we're goin' 'ome, Our s.h.i.+p is at the sh.o.r.e, An' you must pack your 'aversack, For we won't come back no more.

Ho, don't you grieve for me, My lovely Mary-Ann, For I'll marry you yit on a fourp'ny bit As a time-expired man.

THE WIDOW'S PARTY

"Where have you been this while away, Johnnie, Johnnie?"

'Long with the rest on a picnic lay, Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha!

They called us out of the barrack-yard To Gawd knows where from Gosport Hard, And you can't refuse when you get the card, And the Widow gives the party.

(_Bugle_: Ta--rara--ra-ra-rara!)

"What did you get to eat and drink, Johnnie, Johnnie?"

Standing water as thick as ink, Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha!

A bit o' beef that were three year stored, A bit o' mutton as tough as a board, And a fowl we killed with a sergeant's sword, When the Widow give the party.

"What did you do for knives and forks, Johnnie, Johnnie?"

We carries 'em with us wherever we walks, Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha!

And some was sliced and some was halved, And some was crimped and some was carved, And some was gutted and some was starved, When the Widow give the party.

"What ha' you done with half your mess, Johnnie, Johnnie?"

They couldn't do more and they wouldn't do less, Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha!

They ate their whack and they drank their fill, And I think the rations has made them ill, For half my comp'ny's lying still Where the Widow give the party.

"How did you get away -- away, Johnnie, Johnnie?"

On the broad o' my back at the end o' the day, Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha!

I comed away like a bleedin' toff, For I got four n.i.g.g.e.rs to carry me off, As I lay in the bight of a canvas trough, When the Widow give the party.

"What was the end of all the show, Johnnie, Johnnie?"

Ask my Colonel, for _I_ don't know, Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha!

We broke a King and we built a road -- A court-house stands where the reg'ment goed.

And the river's clean where the raw blood flowed When the Widow give the party.

(_Bugle_: Ta--rara--ra-ra-rara!)

FORD O' KABUL RIVER

Kabul town's by Kabul river -- Blow the bugle, draw the sword -- There I lef' my mate for ever, Wet an' drippin' by the ford.

Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, Ford o' Kabul river in the dark!

There's the river up and brimmin', an' there's 'arf a squadron swimmin'

'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark.

Kabul town's a blasted place -- Blow the bugle, draw the sword -- 'Strewth I sha'n't forget 'is face Wet an' drippin' by the ford!

Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, Ford o' Kabul river in the dark!

Keep the crossing-stakes beside you, an' they will surely guide you 'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark.

Kabul town is sun and dust -- Blow the bugle, draw the sword -- I'd ha' sooner drownded fust 'Stead of 'im beside the ford.

Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, Ford o' Kabul river in the dark!

You can 'ear the 'orses thres.h.i.+n', you can 'ear the men a-splas.h.i.+n', 'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark.

Kabul town was ours to take -- Blow the bugle, draw the sword -- I'd ha' left it for 'is sake -- 'Im that left me by the ford.

Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, Ford o' Kabul river in the dark!

It's none so bloomin' dry there; ain't you never comin' nigh there, 'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark?

Kabul town'll go to h.e.l.l -- Blow the bugle, draw the sword -- 'Fore I see him 'live an' well -- 'Im the best beside the ford.

Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, Ford o' Kabul river in the dark!

Gawd 'elp 'em if they blunder, for their boots'll pull 'em under, By the ford o' Kabul river in the dark.

Turn your 'orse from Kabul town -- Blow the bugle, draw the sword -- 'Im an' 'arf my troop is down, Down an' drownded by the ford.

Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, Ford o' Kabul river in the dark!

There's the river low an' fallin', but it ain't no use o' callin'

'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark.

GENTLEMEN-RANKERS

To the legion of the lost ones, to the cohort of the d.a.m.ned, To my brethren in their sorrow overseas, Sings a gentleman of England cleanly bred, machinely crammed, And a trooper of the Empress, if you please.

Yea, a trooper of the forces who has run his own six horses, And faith he went the pace and went it blind, And the world was more than kin while he held the ready tin, But to-day the Sergeant's something less than kind.

We're poor little lambs who've lost our way, Baa! Baa! Baa!

We're little black sheep who've gone astray, Baa--aa--aa!

Gentlemen-rankers out on the spree, d.a.m.ned from here to Eternity, G.o.d ha' mercy on such as we, Baa! Yah! Bah!

Oh, it's sweet to sweat through stables, sweet to empty kitchen slops, And it's sweet to hear the tales the troopers tell, To dance with blowzy housemaids at the regimental hops And thrash the cad who says you waltz too well.

Yes, it makes you c.o.c.k-a-hoop to be "Rider" to your troop, And branded with a blasted worsted spur, When you envy, O how keenly, one poor Tommy being cleanly Who blacks your boots and sometimes calls you "Sir".

If the home we never write to, and the oaths we never keep, And all we know most distant and most dear, Across the snoring barrack-room return to break our sleep, Can you blame us if we soak ourselves in beer?

When the drunken comrade mutters and the great guard-lantern gutters And the horror of our fall is written plain, Every secret, self-revealing on the aching white-washed ceiling, Do you wonder that we drug ourselves from pain?

We have done with Hope and Honour, we are lost to Love and Truth, We are dropping down the ladder rung by rung, And the measure of our torment is the measure of our youth.

G.o.d help us, for we knew the worst too young!

Our shame is clean repentance for the crime that brought the sentence, Our pride it is to know no spur of pride, And the Curse of Reuben holds us till an alien turf enfolds us And we die, and none can tell Them where we died.

We're poor little lambs who've lost our way, Baa! Baa! Baa!

We're little black sheep who've gone astray, Baa--aa--aa!

Gentlemen-rankers out on the spree, d.a.m.ned from here to Eternity, G.o.d ha' mercy on such as we, Baa! Yah! Bah!