Part 6

At half-past five's Revelly, an' our tents they down must come, Like a lot of button mushrooms when you pick 'em up at 'ome. But it's over in a minute, an' at six the column starts, While the women and the kiddies sit an' shiver in the carts. An' it's best foot first,...

Oh, then it's open order, an' we lights our pipes an' sings, An' we talks about our rations an' a lot of other things, An' we thinks o' friends in England, an' we wonders what they're at, An' 'ow they would admire for to hear us sling the bat. An' it's best foot first,...

It's none so bad o' Sunday, when you're lyin' at your ease, To watch the kites a-wheelin' round them feather-'eaded trees, For although there ain't no women, yet there ain't no barrick-yards, So the orficers goes shootin' an' the men they plays at cards. Till it's best foot first,...

So 'ark an' 'eed, you rookies, which is always grumblin' 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 jow?”

Shillin' a Day

My name is O'Kelly, I've heard the Revelly From Birr to Bareilly, from Leeds to Lahore, Hong-Kong and Peshawur, 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.

Second Series (1896)

'Bobs'

There's a little red-faced man, Which is Bobs, Rides the tallest 'orse 'e can- Our Bobs, If it bucks or kicks or rears, 'E can sit for twenty years With a smile round both 'is ears- Can't yer, Bobs?

Then 'ere's to Bobs Bahadur- Little Bobs, Bobs, Bobs! 'E's our pukka Kandahader- Fightin' Bobs, Bobs, Bobs! 'E's the Dook of Aggy Chel; 'E's the man that done us well, An' we'll follow 'im to 'ell- Won't we Bobs?

If a limber's slipped a trace, 'Ook on Bobs. If a marker's lost 'is place, Dress by Bobs. For 'e's eyes all up 'is coat, An' a bugle in 'is throat, An' you will not play the goat Under Bobs.

'E's a little down on drink, Chaplain Bobs; But it keeps us outer Clink- Don't it Bobs? So we will not complain Tho' 'e's water on the brain, If 'e leads us straight again- Blue-light Bobs.

If you stood 'im on 'is head Father Bobs, You could spill a quart o' lead Outer Bobs. 'E's been at it thirty years, An' amassin' souveneers In the way o' slugs an' spears- Ain't yer, Bobs?

What 'e does not Know o' war, Gen'ral Bobs, You can arst the shop next door- Can't they, Bobs? Oh, 'e's little, but he's wise; 'E's a terror for 'is size, An'-'e-does-not-advertise- Do yer, Bobs?

Now they've made a bloomin' Lord Outer Bobs, Which was but 'is fair reward- Weren't it Bobs? So 'e'll wear a coronet Where 'is 'elmet used to set; But we know you won't forget- Will yer, Bobs?

Then 'ere's to Bobs Bahadur-- Little Bobs, Bobs, Bobs! Pocket-Wellin'ton an' arder-- Fightin' Bobs, Bobs, Bobs! This ain't no bloomin' ode, But you've 'elped the soldier's load, An' for benefits bestowed, Bless yer, Bobs!

'Back to the Army Again'

I'm 'ere in a ticky ulster an' a broken billycock 'at, A-layin' on to the sergeant I don't know a gun from a bat; My shirt's doin' duty for jacket, my sock's stickin' out o' my boots, An' I'm learnin' the damned old goose-step along o' the new recruits!

Back to the Army again, sergeant, Back to the Army again. Don't look so 'ard, for I 'aven't no card, I'm back to the Army again!

I done my six years' service. 'Er Majesty sez: “Good-day-- You'll please to come when you're rung for, an' 'ere's your 'ole back-pay; An' fourpence a day for baccy--an' bloomin' gen'rous, too; An' now you can make your fortune--the same as your orf'cers do.”

Back to the Army again, sergeant, Back to the Army again; 'Ow did I learn to do right-about turn? I'm back to the Army again!

A man o' four-an'-twenty that 'asn't learned of a trade-- Beside “Reserve” agin' him--'e'd better be never made. I tried my luck for a quarter, an' that was enough for me, An' I thought of 'Er Majesty's barricks, an' I thought I'd go an' see.

Back to the Army again, sergeant, Back to the Army again; 'Tisn't my fault if I dress when I 'alt-- I'm back to the Army again!

The sergeant arst no questions, but 'e winked the other eye, 'E sez to me, “'Shun!” an' I shunted, the same as in days gone by; For 'e saw the set o' my shoulders, an' I couldn't 'elp 'oldin' straight When me an' the other rookies come under the barrick-gate.

Back to the Army again, sergeant, Back to the Army again; 'Oo would ha' thought I could carry an' port? I'm back to the Army again!