INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 501
There ain't no fun in women nor there ain't no bite to drink; It's much too wet for shootin'; we can only march and think; An' at evenin', down the nullahs, we can 'ear the jackals say, "Get up, you rotten beggars, you've ten more to-day!"
'T would make a monkey cough to see our way o' doin*
things
Lieutenants takin' companies an' Captains takin' wings, An' Lances actin' Sergeants eight file to obey For we've lots o' quick promotion on ten deaths a day!
Our Colonel's white an' twitterly 'e gets no sleep nor food, But mucks about in 'orspital where nothing does no good. 'E sends us 'caps o' comforts, all bought from 'is pay But there aren't much comfort 'andy on ten deaths a day.
Our Chaplain's got a banjo, an' a skinny mule 'e rides, An' the stuff he says an' sings us, Lord, it makes us split our
sides !
With 'is black coat-tails a-bobbin' to Ta-ra-ra Boom-der-ay ! 'E's the proper kind o' padre for ten deaths a day.
An' Father Victor 'elps 'im with our Roman Catholicks He knows an "cap of Irish songs an' rummy conjurin'-tricks; An' the two they works together when it comes to play or
pray. So we keep the ball a-rollin' on ten deaths a day.
We've got the cholerer in camp we've got it 'ot an' sweet. It ain't no Christmas dinner, but it's 'elped an' we must eat; We've gone beyond the funkin', 'cause we've found it doesn't
pay,
An' we're rockin' round the Districk on ten deaths a day!