| |
| YOU may talk o’ gin and beer | |
| When you’re quartered safe out ’ere, | |
| An’ you’re sent to penny-fights an’ Aldershot it; | |
| But when it comes to slaughter | |
| You will do your work on water, | 5 |
| An’ you’ll lick the bloomin’ boots of ’im that’s got it. | |
| Now in Injia’s sunny clime, | |
| Where I used to spend my time | |
| A-servin’ of ’Er Majesty the Queen, | |
| Of all them blackfaced crew | 10 |
| The finest man I knew | |
| Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din. | |
| He was “Din! Din! Din! | |
| “You limpin’ lump o’ brick-dust, Gunga Din! | |
| “Hi! Slippy hitherao! | 15 |
| “Water, get it! Panee lao 1 | |
| “You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din.” | |
| |
| The uniform ’e wore | |
| Was nothin’ much before, | |
| An’ rather less than ’arf o’ that be’ind, | 20 |
| For a piece o’ twisty rag | |
| An’ a goatskin water-bag | |
| Was all the field-equipment ’e could find. | |
| When the sweatin’ troop-train lay | |
| In a sidin’ through the day, | 25 |
| Where the ’eat would make your bloomin’ eyebrows crawl, | |
| We shouted “Harry By!” 2 | |
| Till our throats were bricky-dry, | |
| Then we wopped ’im ’cause ’e couldn’t serve us all. | |
| It was “Din! Din! Din! | 30 |
| “You ’eathen, where the mischief ’ave you been? | |
| “You put some juldee 3 in it | |
| “Or I’ll marrow 4 you this minute | |
| “If you don’t fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!” | |
| |
| ’E would dot an’ carry one | 35 |
| Till the longest day was done; | |
| An’ ’e didn’t seem to know the use o’ fear. | |
| If we charged or broke or cut, | |
| You could bet your bloomin’ nut, | |
| ’E’d be waitin’ fifty paces right flank rear. | 40 |
| With ’is mussick 5 on ’is back, | |
| ’E would skip with our attack, | |
| An’ watch us till the bugles made “Retire” | |
| An’ for all ’is dirty ’ide | |
| ’E was white, clear white, inside | 45 |
| When ’e went to tend the wounded under fire! | |
| It was “Din! Din! Din!” | |
| With the bullets kickin’ dust-spots on the green | |
| When the cartridges ran out, | |
| You could hear the front-ranks shout, | 50 |
| “Hi! ammunition-mules an’ Gunga Din!” | |
| |
| I sha’n’t forgit the night | |
| When I dropped be’ind the fight | |
| With a bullet where my belt-plate should ’a’ been. | |
| I was chokin’ mad with thirst, | 55 |
| An’ the man that spied me first | |
| Was our good old grinnin’, gruntin’ Gunga Din. | |
| ’E lifted up my ’ead, | |
| An’ he plugged me where I bled, | |
| An’ ’e guv me ’arf-a-pint o’ water green. | 60 |
| It was crawlin’ and it stunk, | |
| But of all the drinks I’ve drunk, | |
| I’m gratefullest to one from Gunga Din. | |
| It was “Din! Din! Din! | |
| “’Ere’s a beggar with a bullet through ’is spleen; | 65 |
| “’E’s chawin’ up the ground, | |
| “An’ ’e’s kickin’ all around: | |
| “For Gawd’s sake git the water, Gunga Din!” | |
| |
| ’E carried me away | |
| To where a dooli lay, | 70 |
| An’ a bullet come an’ drilled the beggar clean. | |
| ’E put me safe inside, | |
| An’ just before ’e died, | |
| “I ’ope you liked your drink,” sez Gunga Din. | |
| So I’ll meet ’im later on | 75 |
| At the place where ’e is gone— | |
| Where it’s always double drill and no canteen. | |
| ’E’ll be squattin’ on the coals | |
| Givin’ drink to poor damned souls, | |
| An’ I’ll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din! | 80 |
| Yes, Din! Din! Din! | |
| You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din! | |
| Though I’ve belted you and flayed you, | |
| By the livin’ Gawd that made you, | |
| You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din! | 85 |
