Now remember when you're 'acking round a gilded Burma god That 'is eyes is very often precious stones; An' if you treat a nigger to a dose o' cleanin'-rod 'E's like to show you everything 'e owns. When 'e won't prodooce no more, pour some water on the floor Where you 'ear it answer 'ollow to the boot (Cornet: Toot! toot!) When the ground begins to sink, shove your baynick down the chink, An' you're sure to touch the (Chorus) Loo! loo! Lulu! Loot! loot! loot! Ow the loot! . . . When from 'ouse to 'ouse you're 'unting, you must always work in pairs It 'alves the gain, but safer you will find — For a single man gets bottled on them twisty-wisty stairs, An' a woman comes and clobs 'im from be'ind. When you've turned 'em inside out, an' it seems beyond a doubt As if there were n't enough to dust a flute (Cornet: Toot! toot!) Before you sling your 'ook, at the 'ousetops take a look, (Chorus) Ow the loot! . . . You can mostly square a Sergint an' a Quartermaster too, I could never keep my pickin's, but I've learned you all I knew An' don't you never say I told you so. An' now I'll bid good-bye, for I'm gettin' rather dry, An' I see another tunin' up to toot (Cornet: Toot! toot!) So 'ere's good-luck to those that wears the Widow's clo'es, Bloomin' loot! In the tunic an' the mess-tin an' the boot! It's the same with dogs an' men, If you'd make 'em come again. (fff) Whoop 'em forward with a Loo! loo! Lulu! Loot! loot! loot! Heeya! Sick 'im, puppy! Loo! loo! Lulu! Loot! loot! loot! "SNARLEYOW" THIS 'appened in a battle to a batt'ry of the corps Which is first among the women an' amazin' first in war; Down in the Cavalry, Colonel 'e swears; But down in the lead with the wheel at the flog They was movin' into action, they was needed very sore, They 'ad nipped against an uphill, they was tuckin' down the brow, When a tricky, trundlin' roundshot give the knock to Snarleyow. They cut 'im loose an' left 'im — 'e was almost tore in two But he tried to follow after as a well-trained 'orse should do; 'E went an' fouled the limber, an' the Driver's Brother squeals: "Pull up, pull up for Snarleyow- 'is head's between 'is 'eels!" The Driver 'umped 'is shoulder, for the wheels was goin' round, An' there ain't no "Stop, conductor!" when a batt'ry's changin' ground; Sez 'e: "I broke the beggar in, an' very sad I feels, "But I could n't pull up, not for you - your 'ead between your 'eels!" 'E 'ad n't 'ardly spoke the word, before a droppin' shell A little right the batt'ry an' between the sections fell; An' when the smoke 'ad cleared away, before the limber wheels, There lay the Driver's Brother with 'is 'ead between 'is 'eels. Then sez the Driver's Brother, an' 'is words was very plain, "For Gawd's own sake get over me, an' put me out o' pain." They saw 'is wounds was mortial, an' they judged that it was best, So they took an' drove the limber straight across 'is back an' chest. The Driver 'e give nothin' 'cept a little coughin' grunt, But 'e swung 'is 'orses 'andsome when it came to "Action Front!" An' if one wheel was juicy, you may lay your Monday head 'T was juicier for the niggers when the case begun to spread. The moril of this story, it is plainly to be seen: You 'av n't got no families when servin' of the Queen You 'av n't got no brothers, fathers, sisters, wives, or sons If you want to win your battles take an' work your bloomin' guns! Down in the Infantry, nobody cares; Down in the Cavalry, Colonel 'e swears; But down in the lead with the wheel at the flog THE WIDOW AT WINDSOR 'AVE you 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor With a hairy gold crown on 'er 'ead? She 'as ships on the foam she 'as millions at 'ome, There's 'er nick on the cavalry 'orses, There's 'er mark on the medical stores An' 'er troopers you'll find with a fair wind be'ind (Poor beggars!-barbarious wars!) Then 'ere's to the Widow at Windsor, An' 'ere's to the stores an' the guns, The men an' the 'orses what makes up the forces (Poor beggars! Victorier's sons!) Walk wide o' the Widow at Windsor, For 'alf o' Creation she owns: We 'ave bought 'er the same with the sword an' the flame, An' we've salted it down with our bones. (Poor beggars! - it's blue with our bones!) Hands off o' the sons o' the Widow, Hands off o' the goods in 'er shop, For the Kings must come down an' the Emperors frown When the Widow at Windsor says "Stop!" (Poor beggars! - we're sent to say "Stop!") Then 'ere's to the Lodge o' the Widow, From the Pole to the Tropics it runs To the Lodge that we tile with the rank an' the file, An' open in form with the guns. We 'ave 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor, It's safest to let 'er alone: For 'er sentries we stand by the sea an' the land (Poor beggars! - an' don't we get blown!) Take 'old o' the Wings o' the Mornin', An' flop round the earth till you 're dead; (Poor beggars!-it's 'ot over'ead!) Then 'ere's to the sons o' the Widow, 'Ere's all they desire, an' if they require (Poor beggars! — they'll never see 'ome!) THERE BELTS HERE was a row in Silver Street that 's near to Dublin Quay, Between an Irish regiment an' English cavalree; It started at Revelly an' it lasted on till dark: The first man dropped at Harrison's, the last forninst the Park. For it was:"Belts, belts, belts, an' that's one for you!" An' it was "Belts, belts, belts, an' that's done for you!" O buckle an' tongue Was the song that we sung From Harrison's down to the Park! There was a row in Silver Street the regiments was out, They called us "Delhi Rebels," an' we answered "Threes about!" |