10 Best Famous Arf Poems

Here is a collection of the top 10 all-time best famous Arf poems. This is a select list of the best famous Arf poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Arf poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of arf poems.

• All Famous Arf Poems

 You may talk o' gin and beer
When you're quartered safe out 'ere,
An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.
Now in Injia's sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them blackfaced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.
 He was "Din! Din! Din!
 You limpin' lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!
 Hi! slippery hitherao!
 Water, get it! Panee lao! [Bring water swiftly.]
 You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din."

The uniform 'e wore
Was nothin' much before,
An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind,
For a piece o' twisty rag
An' a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment 'e could find.
When the sweatin' troop-train lay
In a sidin' through the day,
Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl,
We shouted "Harry By!" [Mr. Atkins's equivalent for "O brother."]
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all.
 It was "Din! Din! Din!
 You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been?
 You put some juldee in it [Be quick.]
 Or I'll marrow you this minute [Hit you.]
 If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!"

'E would dot an' carry one
Till the longest day was done;
An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin' nut,
'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear.
With 'is mussick on 'is back, [Water-skin.]
'E would skip with our attack,
An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire",
An' for all 'is dirty 'ide
'E was white, clear white, inside
When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire!
 It was "Din! Din! Din!"
 With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green.
 When the cartridges ran out,
 You could hear the front-files shout,
 "Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"

I shan't forgit the night
When I dropped be'ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been.
I was chokin' mad with thirst,
An' the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.
'E lifted up my 'ead,
An' he plugged me where I bled,
An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water-green:
It was crawlin' and it stunk,
But of all the drinks I've drunk,
I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.
 It was "Din! Din! Din!
 'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen;
 'E's chawin' up the ground,
 An' 'e's kickin' all around:
 For Gawd's sake git the water, Gunga Din!"

'E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean.
'E put me safe inside,
An' just before 'e died,
"I 'ope you liked your drink", sez Gunga Din.
So I'll meet 'im later on
At the place where 'e is gone --
Where it's always double drill and no canteen;
'E'll be squattin' on the coals
Givin' drink to poor damned souls,
An' I'll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!
 Yes, Din! Din! Din!
 You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
 Though I've belted you and flayed you,
 By the livin' Gawd that made you,
 You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

 By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' eastward to the sea,
There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me;
For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:
"Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!"
 Come you back to Mandalay,
 Where the old Flotilla lay:
 Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay?
 On the road to Mandalay,
 Where the flyin'-fishes play,
 An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!

'Er petticoat was yaller an' 'er little cap was green,
An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat -- jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen,
An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot,
An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot:
 Bloomin' idol made o'mud --
 Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd --
 Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she stud!
 On the road to Mandalay . . .

When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was droppin' slow,
She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing "Kulla-lo-lo!"
With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' 'er cheek agin' my cheek
We useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak.
 Elephints a-pilin' teak
 In the sludgy, squdgy creek,
 Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 'arf afraid to speak!
 On the road to Mandalay . . .

But that's all shove be'ind me -- long ago an' fur away,
An' there ain't no 'busses runnin' from the Bank to Mandalay;
An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells:
"If you've 'eard the East a-callin', you won't never 'eed naught else."
 No! you won't 'eed nothin' else
 But them spicy garlic smells,
 An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly temple-bells;
 On the road to Mandalay . . .

I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones,
An' the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;
Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand,
An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand?
 Beefy face an' grubby 'and --
 Law! wot do they understand?
 I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land!
 On the road to Mandalay . . .

Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst,
Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst;
For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be --
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea;
 On the road to Mandalay,
 Where the old Flotilla lay,
 With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay!
 On the road to Mandalay,
 Where the flyin'-fishes play,
 An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!

 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.
D'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
The rattle an' 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,
An' 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 old gun in 'er place -- 'Tss! 'Tss!
 For you all love the screw-guns . . .

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.
Stand easy, you long-eared old darlin'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 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 may hide in the caves, they'll be only your graves, but you can't get away from the guns!

 I've taken my fun where I've found it;
 I've rouged an' I've ranged in my time;
I've 'ad my pickin' o' seethearts,
 An' four o' the lot was prime.
One was an 'arf-caste widow,
 One was awoman at Prome,
One was the wife of a jemadar-sais
 An' one is a girl at 'ome.

Now I aren't no 'and with the ladies,
 For, takin' 'em all along,
You never can say till you've tried 'em,
 An' then you are like to be wrong.
There's times when you'll think that you mightn't,
 There's times when you'll know that you might;
But the things you will learn from the Yellow an' Brown,
 They'll 'elp you a lot with the White!

I was a young un at 'Oogli,
 Shy as a girl to begin;
Aggie de Castrer she made me,
 An' Aggie was clever as sin;
Older than me, but my first un --
 More like a mother she were --
Showed me the way to promotion an' pay,
 An' I learned about women from 'er!

Then I was ordered to Burma,
 Actin' in charge o' Bazar,
An' I got me a tiddy live 'eathen
 Through buyin' supplies off 'er pa.
Funny an' yellow an' faithful --
 Doll in a teacup she were --
But we lived on the square, like a true-married pair,
 An' I learned about women from 'er!

Then we was shifted to Neemuch
 (Or I might ha' been keepin' 'er now),
An' I took with a shiny she-devil,
 The wife of a ****** at Mhow;
'Taught me the gipsy-folks' bolee;
 Kind o' volcano she were,
For she knifed me one night 'cause I wished she was white,
 And I learned about women from 'er!

Then I come 'ome in a trooper,
 'Long of a kid o' sixteen --
'Girl from a convent at Meerut,
 The straightest I ever 'ave seen.
Love at first sight was 'er trouble,
 She didn't know what it were;
An' I wouldn't do such, 'cause I liked 'er too much,
 But -- I learned about women from 'er!

I've taken my fun where I've found it,
 An' now I must pay for my fun,
For the more you 'ave known o' the others
 The less will you settle to one;
An' the end of it's sittin' and thinking',
 An' dreamin' Hell-fires to see;
So be warned by my lot (which I know you will not),
 An' learn about women from me!

What did the Colonel's Lady think?
 Nobody never knew.
Somebody asked the Sergeant's Wife,
 An' she told 'em true!
When you get to a man in the case,
 They're like as a row of pins --
For the Colonel's Lady an' Judy O'Grady
 Are sisters under their skins!

 When the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East
'E acts like a babe an' 'e drinks like a beast,
An' 'e wonders because 'e is frequent deceased
 Ere 'e's fit for to serve as a soldier.
 Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
 Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
 Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
 So-oldier OF the Queen!

Now all you recruities what's drafted to-day,
You shut up your rag-box an' 'ark to my lay,
An' I'll sing you a soldier as far as I may:
 A soldier what's fit for a soldier.
 Fit, fit, fit for a soldier . . .

First mind you steer clear o' the grog-sellers' huts,
For they sell you Fixed Bay'nets that rots out your guts --
Ay, drink that 'ud eat the live steel from your butts --
 An' it's bad for the young British soldier.
 Bad, bad, bad for the soldier . . .

When the cholera comes -- as it will past a doubt --
Keep out of the wet and don't go on the shout,
For the sickness gets in as the liquor dies out,
 An' it crumples the young British soldier.
 Crum-, crum-, crumples the soldier . . .

But the worst o' your foes is the sun over'ead:
You must wear your 'elmet for all that is said:
If 'e finds you uncovered 'e'll knock you down dead,
 An' you'll die like a fool of a soldier.
 Fool, fool, fool of a soldier . . .

If you're cast for fatigue by a sergeant unkind,
Don't grouse like a woman nor crack on nor blind;
Be handy and civil, and then you will find
 That it's beer for the young British soldier.
 Beer, beer, beer for the soldier . . .

Now, if you must marry, take care she is old --
A troop-sergeant's widow's the nicest I'm told,
For beauty won't help if your rations is cold,
 Nor love ain't enough for a soldier.
 'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a soldier . . .

If the wife should go wrong with a comrade, be loath
To shoot when you catch 'em -- you'll swing, on my oath! --
Make 'im take 'er and keep 'er: that's Hell for them both,
 An' you're shut o' the curse of a soldier.
 Curse, curse, curse of a soldier . . .

When first under fire an' you're wishful to duck,
Don't look nor take 'eed at the man that is struck,
Be thankful you're livin', and trust to your luck
 And march to your front like a soldier.
 Front, front, front like a soldier . . .

When 'arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch,
Don't call your Martini a cross-eyed old *****;
She's human as you are -- you treat her as sich,
 An' she'll fight for the young British soldier.
 Fight, fight, fight for the soldier . . .

When shakin' their bustles like ladies so fine,
The guns o' the enemy wheel into line,
Shoot low at the limbers an' don't mind the shine,
 For noise never startles the soldier.
 Start-, start-, startles the soldier . . .

If your officer's dead and the sergeants look white,
Remember it's ruin to run from a fight:
So take open order, lie down, and sit tight,
 And wait for supports like a soldier.
 Wait, wait, wait like a soldier . . .

When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains,
And the women come out to cut up what remains,
Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains
 An' go to your Gawd like a soldier.
 Go, go, go like a soldier,
 Go, go, go like a soldier,
 Go, go, go like a soldier,
 So-oldier of the Queen!

 The 'eathen in 'is blindness bows down to wood an' stone;
'E don't obey no orders unless they is 'is own;
'E keeps 'is side-arms awful: 'e leaves 'em all about,
An' then comes up the Regiment an' pokes the 'eathen out.

 All along o' dirtiness, all along o' mess,
 All along o' doin' things rather-more-or-less,
 All along of abby-nay, kul, an' hazar-ho,
 Mind you keep your rifle an' yourself jus' so!

The young recruit is 'aughty -- 'e draf's from Gawd knows where;
They bid 'im show 'is stockin's an' lay 'is mattress square;
'E calls it bloomin' nonsense -- 'e doesn't know, no more --
An' then up comes 'is Company an'kicks'im round the floor!

The young recruit is 'ammered -- 'e takes it very hard;
'E 'angs 'is 'ead an' mutters -- 'e sulks about the yard;
'E talks o' "cruel tyrants" which 'e'll swing for by-an'-by,
An' the others 'ears an' mocks 'im, an' the boy goes orf to cry.

The young recruit is silly -- 'e thinks o' suicide.
'E's lost 'is gutter-devil; 'e 'asn't got 'is pride;
But day by day they kicks 'im, which 'elps 'im on a bit,
Till 'e finds 'isself one mornin' with a full an' proper kit.

 Gettin' clear o' dirtiness, gettin' done with mess,
 Gettin' shut o' doin' things rather-more-or-less;
 Not so fond of abby-nay, kul, nor hazar-ho,
 Learns to keep 'is ripe an "isself jus'so!

The young recruit is 'appy -- 'e throws a chest to suit;
You see 'im grow mustaches; you 'ear 'im slap' is boot.
'E learns to drop the "bloodies" from every word 'e slings,
An 'e shows an 'ealthy brisket when 'e strips for bars an' rings.

The cruel-tyrant-sergeants they watch 'im 'arf a year;
They watch 'im with 'is comrades, they watch 'im with 'is beer;
They watch 'im with the women at the regimental dance,
And the cruel-tyrant-sergeants send 'is name along for "Lance."

An' now 'e's 'arf o' nothin', an' all a private yet,
'Is room they up an' rags 'im to see what they will get.
They rags 'im low an' cunnin', each dirty trick they can,
But 'e learns to sweat 'is temper an 'e learns to sweat 'is man.

An', last, a Colour-Sergeant, as such to be obeyed,
'E schools 'is men at cricket, 'e tells 'em on parade,
They sees 'im quick an 'andy, uncommon set an' smart,
An' so 'e talks to orficers which 'ave the Core at 'eart.

'E learns to do 'is watchin' without it showin' plain;
'E learns to save a dummy, an' shove 'im straight again;
'E learns to check a ranker that's buyin' leave to shirk;
An 'e learns to malce men like 'im so they'll learn to like their work.

An' when it comes to marchin' he'll see their socks are right,
An' when it comes: to action 'e shows 'em how to sight.
'E knows their ways of thinkin' and just what's in their mind;
'E knows when they are takin' on an' when they've fell be'ind.

'E knows each talkin' corp'ral that leads a squad astray;
'E feels 'is innards 'eavin', 'is bowels givin' way;
'E sees the blue-white faces all tryin 'ard to grin,
An 'e stands an' waits an' suffers till it's time to cap'em in.

An' now the hugly bullets come peckin' through the dust,
An' no one wants to face 'em, but every beggar must;
So, like a man in irons, which isn't glad to go,
They moves 'em off by companies uncommon stiff an' slow.

Of all 'is five years' schoolin' they don't remember much
Excep' the not retreatin', the step an' keepin' touch.
It looks like teachin' wasted when they duck an' spread an 'op --
But if 'e 'adn't learned 'em they'd be all about the shop.

An' now it's "'Oo goes backward?" an' now it's "'Oo comes on?"
And now it's "Get the doolies," an' now the Captain's gone;
An' now it's bloody murder, but all the while they 'ear
'Is voice, the same as barrick-drill, a-shepherdin' the rear.

'E's just as sick as they are, 'is 'eart is like to split,
But 'e works 'em, works 'em, works 'em till he feels them take the bit;
The rest is 'oldin' steady till the watchful bugles play,
An 'e lifts 'em, lifts 'em, lifts 'em through the charge that wins the day!

 The 'eathen in 'is blindness bows down to wood an' stone --
 'E don't obey no orders unless they is 'is own.
 The 'eathen in 'is blindness must end where 'e began
 But the backbone of the Army is the Non-commissioned Man!

 Keep away from dirtiness -- keep away from mess,
 Don't get into doin' things rather-more-or-less!
 Let's ha' done with abby-nay, kul, and hazar-ho;
 Mind you keep your rifle an' yourself jus' so!

 You may talk o' gin and beer
When you're quartered safe out 'ere,
An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.
Now in Injia's sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them blackfaced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.
 He was "Din! Din! Din!
 You limpin' lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!
 Hi! slippery hitherao!
 Water, get it! Panee lao!
 You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din."

The uniform 'e wore
Was nothin' much before,
An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind,
For a piece o' twisty rag
An' a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment 'e could find.
When the sweatin' troop-train lay
In a sidin' through the day,
Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl,
We shouted "Harry By!"
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all.
 It was "Din! Din! Din!
 You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been?
 You put some juldee in it 
 Or I'll marrow you this minute
 If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!"

'E would dot an' carry one
Till the longest day was done;
An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin' nut,
'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear.
With 'is mussick on 'is back,
'E would skip with our attack,
An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire",
An' for all 'is dirty 'ide
'E was white, clear white, inside
When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire!
 It was "Din! Din! Din!"
 With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green.
 When the cartridges ran out,
 You could hear the front-files shout,
 "Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"

I shan't forgit the night
When I dropped be'ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been.
I was chokin' mad with thirst,
An' the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.
'E lifted up my 'ead,
An' he plugged me where I bled,
An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water-green:
It was crawlin' and it stunk,
But of all the drinks I've drunk,
I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.
 It was "Din! Din! Din!
 'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen;
 'E's chawin' up the ground,
 An' 'e's kickin' all around:
 For Gawd's sake git the water, Gunga Din!"

'E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean.
'E put me safe inside,
An' just before 'e died,
"I 'ope you liked your drink", sez Gunga Din.
So I'll meet 'im later on
At the place where 'e is gone --
Where it's always double drill and no canteen;
'E'll be squattin' on the coals
Givin' drink to poor damned souls,
An' I'll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!
 Yes, Din! Din! Din!
 You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
 Though I've belted you and flayed you,
 By the livin' Gawd that made you,
 You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

 Me and Ed and a stretcher
 Out on the nootral ground.
(If there's one dead corpse, I'll betcher
 There's a 'undred smellin' around.)
Me and Eddie O'Brian,
 Both of the R. A. M. C.
"It'as a 'ell of a night
For a soul to take flight,"
 As Eddie remarks to me.
Me and Ed crawlin' 'omeward,
 Thinkin' our job is done,
When sudden and clear,
Wot do we 'ear:
 'Owl of a wounded 'Un.

"Got to take 'im," snaps Eddy;
 "Got to take all we can.
'E may be a Germ
Wiv the 'eart of a worm,
 But, blarst 'im! ain't 'e a man?"
So 'e sloshes out fixin' a dressin'
 ('E'd always a medical knack),
When that wounded 'Un
'E rolls to 'is gun,
 And 'e plugs me pal in the back.

Now what would you do? I arst you.
 There was me slaughtered mate.
There was that 'Un
(I'd collered 'is gun),
 A-snarlin' 'is 'ymn of 'ate.
Wot did I do? 'Ere, whisper . . .
 'E'd a shiny bald top to 'is 'ead,
But when I got through,
Between me and you,
 It was 'orrid and jaggy and red.

"'Ang on like a limpet, Eddy.
 Thank Gord! you ain't dead after all."
It's slow and it's sure and it's steady
 (Which is 'ard, for 'e's big and I'm small).
The rockets are shootin' and shinin',
 It's rainin' a perishin' flood,
The bullets are buzzin' and whinin',
 And I'm up to me stern in the mud.
There's all kinds of 'owlin' and 'ootin';
 It's black as a bucket of tar;
Oh, I'm doin' my bit,
But I'm 'avin' a fit,
 And I wish I was 'ome wiv Mar.

"Stick on like a plaster, Eddy.
 Old sport, you're a-slackin' your grip."
Gord! But I'm crocky already;
 My feet, 'ow they slither and slip!
There goes the biff of a bullet.
 The Boches have got us for fair.
Another one -- WHUT!
The son of a ****!
 'E managed to miss by a 'air.
'Ow! Wot was it jabbed at me shoulder?
 Gave it a dooce of a wrench.
Is it Eddy or me
Wot's a-bleedin' so free?
 Crust! but it's long to the trench.
I ain't just as strong as a Sandow,
 And Ed ain't a flapper by far;
I'm blamed if I understand 'ow
 We've managed to get where we are.
But 'ere's for a bit of a breather.
 "Steady there, Ed, 'arf a mo'.
Old pal, it's all right;
It's a 'ell of a fight,
 But are we down-'earted? No-o-o."

Now war is a funny thing, ain't it?
 It's the rummiest sort of a go.
For when it's most real,
It's then that you feel
 You're a-watchin' a cinema show.
'Ere's me wot's a barber's assistant.
 Hey, presto! It's somewheres in France,
And I'm 'ere in a pit
Where a coal-box 'as 'it,
 And it's all like a giddy romance.
The ruddy quick-firers are spittin',
 The 'eavies are bellowin' 'ate,
And 'ere I am cashooly sittin',
 And 'oldin' the 'ead of me mate.
Them gharstly green star-shells is beamin',
 'Ot shrapnel is poppin' like rain,
And I'm sayin': "Bert 'Iggins, you're dreamin',
 And you'll wake up in 'Ampstead again.
You'll wake up and 'ear yourself sayin':
 `Would you like, sir, to 'ave a shampoo?'
'Stead of sheddin' yer blood
In the rain and the mud,
 Which is some'ow the right thing to do;
Which is some'ow yer 'oary-eyed dooty,
 Wot you're doin' the best wot you can,
For 'Ampstead and 'ome and beauty,
 And you've been and you've slaughtered a man.
A feller wot punctured your partner;
 Oh, you 'ammered 'im 'ard on the 'ead,
And you still see 'is eyes
Starin' bang at the skies,
 And you ain't even sorry 'e's dead.
But you wish you was back in your diggin's
 Asleep on your mouldy old stror.
Oh, you're doin' yer bit, 'Erbert 'Iggins,
 But you ain't just enjoyin' the war."

"'Ang on like a hoctopus, Eddy.
 It's us for the bomb-belt again.
Except for the shrap
Which 'as 'it me a tap,
 I'm feelin' as right as the rain.
It's my silly old feet wot are slippin',
 It's as dark as a 'ogs'ead o' sin,
But don't be oneasy, my pippin,
 I'm goin' to pilot you in.
It's my silly old 'ead wot is reelin'.
 The bullets is buzzin' like bees.
Me shoulder's red-'ot,
And I'm bleedin' a lot,
 And me legs is on'inged at the knees.
But we're staggerin' nearer and nearer.
 Just stick it, old sport, play the game.

I make 'em out clearer and clearer,
 Our trenches a-snappin' with flame.
Oh, we're stumblin' closer and closer.
 'Ang on there, lad! Just one more try.
Did you say: Put you down? Damn it, no, sir!
 I'll carry you in if I die.
By cracky! old feller, they've seen us.
 They're sendin' out stretchers for two.
Let's give 'em the hoorah between us
 ('Anged lucky we aren't booked through).
My flipper is mashed to a jelly.
 A bullet 'as tickled your spleen.
We've shed lots of gore
And we're leakin' some more,
 But -- wot a hoccasion it's been!
Ho! 'Ere comes the rescuin' party.
 They're crawlin' out cautious and slow.
Come! Buck up and greet 'em, my 'earty,
 Shoulder to shoulder -- so.
They mustn't think we was down-'earted.
Old pal, we was never down-'earted.
If they arsts us if we was down-'earted
 We'll 'owl in their fyces: 'No-o-o!'"

 Through the Plagues of Egyp' we was chasin' Arabi,
 Gettin' down an' shovin' in the sun;
An' you might 'ave called us dirty, an' you might ha' called us dry,
 An' you might 'ave 'eard us talkin' at the gun.
But the Captain 'ad 'is jacket, an' the jacket it was new --
 ('Orse Gunners, listen to my song!)
An' the wettin' of the jacket is the proper thing to do,
 Nor we didn't keep 'im waitin' very long.

One day they gave us orders for to shell a sand redoubt,
 Loadin' down the axle-arms with case;
But the Captain knew 'is dooty, an' he took the crackers out
 An' he put some proper liquor in its place.
An' the Captain saw the shrapnel, which is six-an'-thirty clear.
 ('Orse Gunners, listen to my song!)
"Will you draw the weight," sez 'e, "or will you draw the beer?"
 An' we didn't keep 'im waitin' very long.
 For the Captain, etc.

Then we trotted gentle, not to break the bloomin' glass,
 Though the Arabites 'ad all their ranges marked;
But we dursn't 'ardly gallop, for the most was bottled Bass,
 An' we'd dreamed of it since we was disembarked:
So we fired economic with the shells we 'ad in 'and,
 ('Orse Gunners, listen to my song!)
But the beggars under cover 'ad the impidence to stand,
 An' we couldn't keep 'em waitin' very long.
 And the Captain, etc.

So we finished 'arf the liquor (an' the Captain took champagne),
 An' the Arabites was shootin' all the while;
An' we left our wounded 'appy with the empties on the plain,
 An' we used the bloomin' guns for pro-jec-tile!
We limbered up an' galloped -- there were nothin' else to do --
 ('Orse Gunners, listen to my song!)
An' the Battery came a-boundin' like a boundin' kangaroo,
 But they didn't watch us comin' very long.
 As the Captain, etc.

We was goin' most extended -- we was drivin' very fine,
 An' the Arabites were loosin' 'igh an' wide,
Till the Captain took the glassy with a rattlin' right incline,
 An' we dropped upon their 'eads the other side.
Then we give 'em quarter -- such as 'adn't up and cut,
 ('Orse Gunners, listen to my song!)
An' the Captain stood a limberful of fizzy -- somethin' Brutt,
 But we didn't leave it fizzing very long.
 For the Captain, etc.

We might ha' been court-martialled, but it all come out all right
 When they signalled us to join the main command.
There was every round expended, there was every gunner tight,
 An' the Captain waved a corkscrew in 'is 'and.
 But the Captain 'ad 'is jacket, etc.

 Me that 'ave been what I've been --
 Me that 'ave gone where I've gone --
Me that 'ave seen what I've seen --
 'Ow can I ever take on
With awful old England again,
An' 'ouses both sides of the street,
And 'edges two sides of the lane,
And the parson an' gentry between,
An' touchin' my 'at when we meet --
 Me that 'ave been what I've been?

Me that 'ave watched 'arf a world
'Eave up all shiny with dew,
Kopje on kop to the sun,
An' as soon as the mist let 'em through
Our 'elios winkin' like fun --
Three sides of a ninety-mile square,
Over valleys as big as a shire --
"Are ye there? Are ye there? Are ye there?"
An' then the blind drum of our fire . . .
An' I'm rollin' 'is lawns for the Squire,
     Me!

Me htat 'ave rode through the dark
Forty mile, often, on end,
Along the Ma'ollisberg Range,
With only the stars for my mark
An' only the night for my friend,
An' things runnin' off as you pass,
An' things jumpin' up in the grass,
An' the silence, the shine an' the size
Of the 'igh, unexpressible skies --
I am takin' some letters almost
As much as a mile to the post,
An' "mind you come back with the change!"
     Me!

Me that saw Barberton took
When we dropped through the clouds on their 'ead,
An' they 'ove the guns over and fled --
Me that was through Di'mond I'll,
An' Pieters an' Springs an' Belfast --
From Dundee to Vereeniging all --
Me that stuck out to the last
(An' five bloomin' bars on my chest) --
I am doin' my Sunday-school best,
By the 'elp of the Squire an' 'is wife
(Not to mention the 'ousemaid an' cook),
To come in an' 'ands up an' be still,
An' honestly work for my bread,
My livin' in that state of life
To which it shall please God to call
     Me!

Me that 'ave followed my trade
In the place where the Lightnin's are made;
"Twixt the Rains and the Sun and the Moon --
Me that lay down an' got up
Three years with the sky for my roof --
That 'ave ridden my 'unger an' thirst
Six thousand raw mile on the hoof,
With the Vaal and the Orange for cup,
An' the Brandwater Basin for dish, --
Oh! it's 'ard to be'ave as they wish
(Too 'ard, an' a little too soon),
I'll 'ave to think over it first --
     Me!

I will arise an' get 'ence --
I will trek South and make sure
If it's only my fancy or not
That the sunshine of England is pale,
And the breezes of England are stale,
An' there's something' gone small with the lot.
For I know of a sun an' a wind,
An' some plains and a mountain be'ind,
An' some graves by a barb-wire fence,
An' a Dutchman I've fought 'oo might give
Me a job where I ever inclined
To look in an' offsaddle an' live
Where there's neither a road nor a tree --
But only my Maker an' me,
An I think it will kill me or cure,
So I think I will go there an' see.