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! Cells I've a head like a concertina: I've a tongue like a button-stick: I've a mouth like an old potato, and I'm more than a little sick, But I've had my fun o' the Corp'ral's Guard: I've made the cinders fly, And I'm here in the Clink for a thundering drink and blacking the Corporal's eye. With a second-hand overcoat under my head, And a beautiful view of the yard, O it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B. For “drunk and resisting the Guard!” Mad drunk and resisting the Guard-- 'Strewth, but I socked it them hard! So it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B. For “drunk and resisting the Guard.” I started o' canteen porter, I finished o' canteen beer, But a dose o' gin that a mate slipped in, it was that that brought me here. 'Twas that and an extry double Guard that rubbed my nose in the dirt; But I fell away with the Corp'ral's stock and the best of the Corp'ral's shirt. I left my cap in a public-house, my boots in the public road, And Lord knows where, and I don't care, my belt and my tunic goed; They'll stop my pay, they'll cut away the stripes I used to wear, But I left my mark on the Corp'ral's face, and I think he'll keep it there! My wife she cries on the barrack-gate, my kid in the barrack-yard, It ain't that I mind the Ord'ly room--it's that that cuts so hard. I'll take my oath before them both that I will sure abstain, But as soon as I'm in with a mate and gin, I know I'll do it again! With a second-hand overcoat under my head, And a beautiful view of the yard, Yes, it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B. For “drunk and resisting the Guard!” Mad drunk and resisting the Guard-- 'Strewth, but I socked it them hard! So it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B. For “drunk and resisting the Guard.” Gunga Din