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| 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! | 5 |
| 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! | |
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| 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: | 10 |
| We’ve chivied the Naga an’ Looshai, we’ve give the Afreedee-man 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 … | |
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| 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. | 15 |
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 … | |
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| 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 … | 20 |
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| 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 … | |
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| Smokin’ my pipe on the mountings, sniffin’ the mornin’-cool, | 25 |
| 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! | 30 |
| 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! | |
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