Outside--“Sergeant! Sir! Salute! Salaam!” Inside--“Brother”, an' it doesn't do no 'arm. We met upon the Level an' we parted on the Square, An' I was Junior Deacon in my Mother-Lodge out there! We'd Bola Nath, Accountant, An' Saul the Aden Jew, An' Din Mohammed, draughtsman Of the Survey Office too; There was Babu Chuckerbutty, An' Amir Singh the Sikh, An' Castro from the fittin'-sheds, The Roman Catholick! We 'adn't good regalia, An' our Lodge was old an' bare, But we knew the Ancient Landmarks, An' we kep' 'em to a hair; An' lookin' on it backwards It often strikes me thus, There ain't such things as infidels, Excep', per'aps, it's us. For monthly, after Labour, We'd all sit down and smoke (We dursn't give no banquits, Lest a Brother's caste were broke), An' man on man got talkin' Religion an' the rest, An' every man comparin' Of the God 'e knew the best. So man on man got talkin', An' not a Brother stirred Till mornin' waked the parrots An' that dam' brain-fever-bird; We'd say 'twas 'ighly curious, An' we'd all ride 'ome to bed, With Mo'ammed, God, an' Shiva Changin' pickets in our 'ead. Full oft on Guv'ment service This rovin' foot 'ath pressed, An' bore fraternal greetin's To the Lodges east an' west, Accordin' as commanded From Kohat to Singapore, But I wish that I might see them In my Mother-Lodge once more! I wish that I might see them, My Brethren black an' brown, With the trichies smellin' pleasant An' the hog-darn passin' down; An' the old khansamah snorin' On the bottle-khana floor, Like a Master in good standing With my Mother-Lodge once more! Outside--“Sergeant! Sir! Salute! Salaam!” Inside--“Brother”, an' it doesn't do no 'arm. We met upon the Level an' we parted on the Square, An' I was Junior Deacon in my Mother-Lodge out there! 'Follow Me 'Ome' There was no one like 'im, 'Orse or Foot, Nor any o' the Guns I knew; An' because it was so, why, o' course 'e went an' died, Which is just what the best men do. So it's knock out your pipes an' follow me! An' it's finish up your swipes an' follow me! Oh, 'ark to the big drum callin', Follow me--follow me 'ome! 'Is mare she neighs the 'ole day long, She paws the 'ole night through, An' she won't take 'er feed 'cause o' waitin' for 'is step, Which is just what a beast would do. 'Is girl she goes with a bombardier Before 'er month is through; An' the banns are up in church, for she's got the beggar hooked, Which is just what a girl would do. We fought 'bout a dog--last week it were-- No more than a round or two; But I strook 'im cruel 'ard, an' I wish I 'adn't now, Which is just what a man can't do.