| |
(Northern India Transport Train)
WOT makes the soldier’s ’eart to penk, wot makes ’im to perspire? | |
| It isn’t standin’ up to charge nor lyin’ down to fire; | |
| But it’s everlastin’ waitin’ on a everlastin’ road | |
| For the commissariat camel an’ ’is commissariat load. | |
| O the oont, 1 O the oont, O the commissariat oont! | 5 |
| With ’is silly neck a-bobbin’ like a basket full o’ snakes; | |
| We packs ’im like an idol, an’ you ought to ’ear ’im grunt, | |
| An’ when we get ’im loaded up ’is blessed girth-rope breaks. | |
| |
| Wot makes the rear-guard swear so ’ard when night is drorin’ in, | |
| An’ every native follower is shiverin’ for ’is skin? | 10 |
| It ain’t the chanst o’ being rushed by Paythans from the ’ills, | |
| It’s the commissariat camel puttin’ on ’is bloomin’ frills! | |
| O the oont, O the oont, O the hairy scary oont! | |
| A-trippin’ over tent-ropes when we’ve got the night alarm! | |
| We socks ’im with a stretcher-pole an’ ’eads ’im off in front, | 15 |
| An’ when we’ve saved ’is bloomin’ life ’e chaws our bloomin’ arm. | |
| |
| The ’orse ’e knows above a bit, the bullock’s but a fool, | |
| The elephant’s a gentleman, the battery-mule’s a mule; | |
| But the commissariat cam-u-el, when all is said an’ done, | |
| ’E’s a devil an’ a ostrich an’ a orphan-child in one. | 20 |
| O the oont, O the oont, O the Gawd-forsaken oont! | |
| The lumpy-’umpy ’ummin’-bird a-singin’ where ’e lies, | |
| ’E’s blocked the whole division from the rear-guard to the front, | |
| An’ when we get him up again—the beggar goes an’ dies! | |
| |
| ’E’ll gall an’ chafe an’ lame an’ fight—’e smells most awful vile. | 25 |
| ’E’ll lose ’isself for ever if you let ’im stray a mile. | |
| ’E’s game to graze the ’ole day long an’ ’owl the ’ole night through. | |
| An’ when ’e comes to greasy ground ’e splits ’isself in two. | |
| O the oont, O the oont, O the floppin’, droppin’ oont! | |
| When ’is long legs give from under an’ ’is meltin’ eye is dim, | 30 |
| The tribes is up be’ind us, and the tribes is out in front— | |
| It ain’t no jam for Tommy, but it’s kites an’ crows for ’im. | |
| |
| So when the cruel march is done, an’ when the roads is blind, | |
| An’ when we sees the camp in front an’ ’ears the shots be’ind, | |
| Ho! then we strips ’is saddle off, and all ’is woes is past: | 35 |
| ’E thinks on us that used ’im so, and gets revenge at last. | |
| O the oont, O the oont, O the floatin’, bloatin’ oont! | |
| The late lamented camel in the water-cut ’e lies; | |
| We keeps a mile be’ind ’im an’ we keeps a mile in front, | |
| But ’e gets into the drinkin’-casks, and then o’ course we dies. | 40 |
