The new fat regiments come from home, imaginin' vain V. C.'s
(The same as your talky-fighty men which are often Number Threes[1]),
But our words o' command are "Scatter" an' "Close" an' "Let your wounded lie."
We used to rescue 'em noble once,—
Givin' the range as we raised 'em once,
Gettin' 'em killed as we saved 'em once—
But now we are M. I.
That is what we are known as we are the lanterns you view
After a fight round the kopjes, lookin' for men that we knew;
Whistlin' an' callin' together, 'altin' to catch the reply:—
"'Elpme! O 'elp me, Ikonas! This way, the——M. I.!"
I wish my mother could see me now, a-gatherin' news on my own,
When I ride like a General up to the scrub and ride back like Tod Sloan,
Remarkable close to my 'orse's neck to let the shots go by.
We used to fancy it risky once
(Called it a reconnaissance once),
Under the charge of an orf'cer once,
But now we are M. I.!
That is what we are known as that is the song you must say
When you want men to be Mausered at one and a penny a day;
We are no five-bob Colonials—we are the 'ome-made supply,
Ask for the London Ikonas! Ring up the——M. I.!
I wish myself could talk to myself as I left 'im a year ago;
I could tell 'im a lot that would save 'im a lot on the things that 'e ought to know!
- ↑ Horse-holders when in action, and therefore generally under cover.
