| Smokin’ my pipe on the mountings, sniffin’ the mornin’-cool, |
| I walks in my old brown gaiters along o’ my old brown mule, |
| With seventy gunners be’ind me, an’ never a beggar forgets |
| It’s only the pick of the Army that handles the dear |
| little pets - ’Tss! ’Tss! |
| For you all love the screw-guns - the screw-guns |
| they all love you! |
| So when we call round with a few guns, o’course |
| you will know what to do - hoo! hoo! |
| Jest send in your Chief an’ surrender - it’s |
| worse if you fights or you runs: |
| You can go where you please, you can skid up the |
| trees, but you don’t get away from the guns! |
| |
| They sends us along where the roads are, but mostly we |
| goes where they ain’t. |
| We’d climb up the side of a sign-board an’ trust to the stick o’ the paint: |
| We’ve chivied the Naga an’ Looshai; we’ve give the Afreedeeman fits; |
| For we fancies ourselves at two thousand, we guns that |
| are built in two bits - ’Tss! ’Tss! |
| For you all love the screw-guns... |
| |
| If a man doesn’t work, why, we drills ’im an’ teaches ’im |
| ow to behave. |
| If a beggar can’t march, why, we kills ’im an’ rattles'’im |
| into ’is grave. |
| You’ve got to stand up to our business an’ spring without |
| snatchin’ or fuss. |
| ’you say that you sweat with the field-guns? By God, |
| you must lather with us - ’Tss! ’Tss! |
| For you all love the screw-guns... |
| |
| The eagles is screamin’ around us, the river’s a-moanin’ below, |
| We’re clear o’ the pine an’ the oak-scrub, we’re out on |
| the rocks an’ the snow, |
| An’ the wind is as thin as a whip-lash what carries away to the plains |
| ’ stamp o’ the lead-mules - the jinglety-jink |
| o’ the chains - ’Tss! ’Tss! |
| For you all love the screw-guns... |
| |
| There’s a wheel on the Horns o’ the Mornin’, an’ a wheel |
| on the edge o’ the Pit, |
| ’ a drop into nothin’ beneath you as straight as a beggar can spit: |
| With the sweat runnin’ out o’ your shirt-sleeves, an’ the |
| sun off the snow in your face, |
| An’ ’arf o’ the men on the drag-ropes to hold the gun in |
| ’er place - ’Tss! ’Tss! |
|
| |
| Smokin’ my pipe on the mountings, sniffin’ the mornin’-cool, |
| I climbs in my old brown gaiters along o’ my old brown mule. |
| The monkey can say what our road was - the wild-goat |
| ’e knows where we passed. |
| ’s! Out drag-ropes! |
| With shrapnel! Hold fast - ’Tss! ’Tss! |
| For you all love the screw-guns - the screw-guns |
| they all love you! |
| So when we take tea with a few guns, o’ course |
|
| ’ surrender - it’s worse |
| if you fights or you runs: |
| You may hide in the caves, they’ll be only your |
| graves, but you can’t get away from the guns! |