Rudyard Kipling 3

by Toby Darling

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about

More settings of Rudyard Kipling's poems to music.

Viceos for all settings are available here:
www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLY6dfvc2sgI0AxqMjhYfW3Oy_hBW0lwTB

credits

released April 22, 2016

All poems by Rudyard Kipling
Music composed and produced by Toby Darling

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about

Toby Darling Winchester, UK

Amateur enthusiast.
Feel free to do anything you want with these tracks, I am not interested in making money from music.

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Track Name: Mandalay
Mandalay

Intro: Am Am G Am

Chorus: Dm7 Em Am G Am
Bridge: G D C G Am


BY THE old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' lazy at the sea,
There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me;
For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:
"Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay! "
Come you back to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay:
Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay ?
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin'-fishes play,
An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!
'Er petticoat was yaller an' 'er little cap was green,
An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat - jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen,
An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot,
An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot:
Bloomin' idol made o' mud
Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd
Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she stud!
On the road to Mandalay...

When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was droppin' slow,
She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing "Kulla-lo-lo!
With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' 'er cheek agin my cheek
We useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak.
Elephints a-pilin' teak
In the sludgy, squdgy creek,
Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 'arf afraid to speak!
On the road to Mandalay...

But that's all shove be'ind me - long ago an' fur away
An' there ain't no 'busses runnin' from the Bank to Mandalay;
An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells:
"If you've 'eard the East a-callin', you won't never 'eed naught else."
No! you won't 'eed nothin' else
But them spicy garlic smells,
An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly temple-bells;
On the road to Mandalay...

I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones,
An' the blasted English drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;
Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand,
An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand?
Beefy face an' grubby 'and -
Law! wot do they understand?
I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land!
On the road to Mandalay...

Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst,
Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst;
For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea;
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay,
With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay!
O the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin'-fishes play,
An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay !
Track Name: Back to the Army Again
"Back To the Army Again" (Rudyard Kipling)
Intro:G

G C – D-Em
I'm 'ere in a ticky ulster an' a broken billycock 'at,
G Em C D
A-layin' on the sergeant I don't know a gun from a bat;
G C-D-Em
My shirt's doin' duty for jacket, my sock's stickin' out o' my boots,
G C D G
An' I'm learnin' the damned old goose-step along o' the new recruits!

Bm Em
Back to Army again, sergeant,
D Em
Back to the Army again.
G C
Don't look so 'ard, for I 'aven't no card,
G-D-G
I'm back to the Army again!

I done my six years' service. 'Er Majesty sez: "Good day --
You'll please to come when you're rung for, an' 'ere's your 'ole back-pay:
An' fourpence a day for baccy -- an' bloomin' gen'rous, too;
An' now you can make your fortune -- the same as your orf'cers do."

Back to the Army again, sergeant,
Back to the Army again.
'Ow did I learn to do right-about-turn?
I'm back to the Army again!

A man o' four-an'-twenty that 'asn't learned of a trade --
Beside "Reserve" agin' him -- 'e'd better be never made.
I tried my luck for a quarter, an' that was enough for me,
An' I thought of 'Er Majesty's barricks, an' I thought I'd go an' see.

Back to the Army again, sergeant,
Back to the Army again.
'Tisn't my fault if I dress when I 'alt --
I'm back to the Army again!

The sergeant arst no questions, but 'e winked the other eye,
'E sez to me, " 'Shun!" an' I shunted, the same as in days gone by;
For 'e saw the set o' my shoulders, an' I couldn't 'elp 'oldin' straight
When me an' the other rookies come under the barrik-gate.

Back to the Army again, sergeant,
Back to the Army again.
'Oo would ha' thought I could carry an' port?
I'm back to the Army again!

I took my bath, an' I wallered -- for, Gawd, I needed it so!
I smelt the smell o' the barricks, I 'eard the bugles go.
I 'eard the feet on the gravel -- the feet o' the men what drill --
An' I sez to my flutterin' 'eart-strings, I sez to 'em, "Peace, be still!"

Back to the Army again, sergeant,
Back to the Army again.
'Oo said I knew when the troopship was due?
I'm back to the Army again!

I carried my slops to the tailor; I sez to 'im, "None o' your lip!
You tight 'em over the shoulders, an' loose 'em over the 'ip,
For the set o' the tunic's 'orrid." An' 'e sez to me, "Strike me dead,
But I thought you was used to the business!" an' so 'e done what I said.

Back to the Army again, sergeant,
Back to the Army again.
Rather too free with my fancies? Wot -- me?
I'm back to the Army again!

Next week I'll 'ave 'em fitted; I'll buy me a swagger-cane;
They'll let me free o' the barricks to walk on the Hoe again,
In the name o' William Parsons, that used to be Edward Clay,
An' -- any pore beggar that wants it can draw my fourpence a day!

Back to the Army again, sergeant,
Back to the Army again.
Out o' the cold an' the rain, sergeant,
Out o' the cold an' the rain.
'Oo's there?

Em D
A man that's too good to be lost you,
Em Bm
A man that is 'andled an' made –
C D
A man that will pay what 'e cost you
G D
In learnin' the others their trade -- parade!
G
You're droppin' the pick o' the Army
C-D-Em
Because you don't 'elp 'em remain,
G C
But drives 'em to cheat to get out o' the street
G-D-G
An' back to the Army again!
Track Name: The Widow at Windsor
Here is another one of Rudyard Kipling's Barrack-Room Ballads which I have set to music.

Score/midi/mp3/backing available free on request.

The Widow at Windsor

By Rudyard Kipling


Am E Am
'Ave you 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor
Am E Am
With a hairy gold crown on 'er 'ead?
Am Dm G Am
She 'as ships on the foam -- she 'as millions at 'ome,
Am E Am
An' she pays us poor beggars in red.
Am E Am
(Ow, poor beggars in red!)
There's 'er nick on the cavalry 'orses,
There's 'er mark on the medical stores --
An' 'er troopers you'll find with a fair wind be'ind
That takes us to various wars.
(Poor beggars! -- barbarious wars!)

D F Am
Then 'ere's to the Widow at Windsor,
Dm F E7
An' 'ere's to the stores an' the guns,
F C Dm F
The men an' the 'orses what makes up the forces
Dm F E7
O' Missis Victorier's sons.
Am E Am
(Poor beggars! Victorier's sons!)

Walk wide o' the Widow at Windsor,
For 'alf o' Creation she owns:
We 'ave bought 'er the same with the sword an' the flame,
An' we've salted it down with our bones.
(Poor beggars! -- it's blue with our bones!)
Hands off o' the sons o' the Widow,
Hands off o' the goods in 'er shop,
For the Kings must come down an' the Emperors frown
When the Widow at Windsor says "Stop"!
(Poor beggars! -- we're sent to say "Stop"!)
Then 'ere's to the Lodge o' the Widow,
From the Pole to the Tropics it runs --
To the Lodge that we tile with the rank an' the file,
An' open in form with the guns.
(Poor beggars! -- it's always they guns!)

We 'ave 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor,
It's safest to let 'er alone:
For 'er sentries we stand by the sea an' the land
Wherever the bugles are blown.
(Poor beggars! -- an' don't we get blown!)
Take 'old o' the Wings o' the Mornin',
An' flop round the earth till you're dead;
But you won't get away from the tune that they play
To the bloomin' old rag over'ead.
(Poor beggars! -- it's 'ot over'ead!)
Then 'ere's to the sons o' the Widow,
Wherever, 'owever they roam.
'Ere's all they desire, an' if they require
A speedy return to their 'ome.
(Poor beggars! -- they'll never see 'ome!)
Track Name: The Thousandth Man
The Thousandth Man (Rudyard Kipling)
Gm Eb F Dm
ONE man in a thousand, Solomon says.
Gm Eb Dm
Will stick more close than a brother.
Eb F Gm Eb
And it's worth while seeking him half your days
Gm D Gm
If you find him before the other.
Nine hundred and ninety-nine depend
On what the world sees in you,
But the Thousandth Man will stand your friend
With the whole round world agin you.
Cm Gm
'Tis neither promise nor prayer nor show
Cm D7
Will settle the finding for 'ee.
Gm Dm Gm F
Nine hundred and ninety-nine of 'em go
Eb D Gm
By your looks, or your acts, or your glory.
But if he finds you and you find him,
The rest of the world don't matter;
For the Thousandth Man will sink or swim
With you in any water.
You can use his purse with no more talk
Than he uses yours for his spendings,
And laugh and meet in your daily walk
As though there had been no lendings.
Nine hundred and ninety-nine of 'em call
For silver and gold in their dealings;
But the Thousandth Man he's worth 'em all
Because you can show him your feelings.
Eb Dm Cm Bb
His wrong's your wrong, and his right's your right,
Cm F Gm
In season or out of season.
Eb Dm Cm Bb
Stand up and back it in all men's sight
Cm F D7
With that for your only reason!
Nine hundred and ninety-nine can't bide
The shame or mocking or laughter,
But the Thousandth Man will stand by your side
To the gallows-foot - and after!
Track Name: Puck's Song
Puck's Song (Rudyard Kipling)




Em D
See you the ferny ride that steals
Em D
Into the oak-woods far?
Em D
O that was whence they hewed the keels
Em D
That rolled to Trafalgar.

C D
And mark you where the ivy clings
Em D
To Bayham's mouldering walls?
C D
O there we cast the stout railings
Em D
That stand around St. Paul's.

Bm Em
See you the dimpled track that runs
G A
All hollow through the wheat?
Bm Em
O that was where they hauled the guns
G A
That smote King Philip's fleet.

D F
(Out of the Weald, the secret Weald,
C G
Men sent in ancient years,
D F
The horse-shoes red at Flodden Field,
C G
The arrows at Poitiers!)

See you our little mill that clacks,
So busy by the brook?
She has ground her corn and paid her
Ever since Domesday Book.

See you our stilly woods of oak,
And the dread ditch beside?
O that was where the Saxons broke
On the day that Harold died.

See you the windy levels spread
About the gates of Rye?
O that was where the Northmen fled,
When Alfred's ships came by.

See you our pastures wide and lone,
Where the red oxen browse?
O there was a City thronged and known,
Ere London boasted a house.

D G
And see you after rain, the trace
C-G/B Am7
Of mound and ditch and wall?
D G
O that was a Legion's camping-place,
C-G/B D
When Caesar sailed from Gaul.

D G
And see you marks that show and fade,
C-G/B Am7
Like shadows on the Downs?
G Am
O they are the lines the Flint Men made,
Bm C-D
To guard their wondrous towns.

Trackway and Camp and City lost,
Salt Marsh where now is corn--
Old Wars, old Peace, old Arts that cease,
And so was England born!

She is not any common Earth,
Water or wood or air,
But Merlin's Isle of Gramarye,
Where you and I will fare!

G/B=x2003x
Track Name: Soldier Soldier
Soldier, Soldier (Kipling)

Intro: Chorus instr

Am G F Em
“Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
Dm Am E7
Why don't you march with my true love?”
Am G F Em
“We're fresh from off the ship an' 'e's maybe give the slip,
Dm Am E7
An' you'd best go look for a new love.”

Chorus:
F C
New love! True love!
G Am
Best go look for a new love,
Em Am Dm E7
The dead they cannot rise, an' you'd better dry your eyes,
F C Dm
An' you'd best go look for a new love.

“Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
What did you see o' my true love?”
“I seed 'im serve the Queen in a suit o' rifle-green,
An' you'd best go look for a new love.”

“Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
Did ye see no more o' my true love?”
“I seed 'im runnin' by when the shots begun to fly—
An' you'd best go look for a new love.”

Chorus:

“Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
Did aught take 'arm to my true love?”
“Well I couldn't see the fight, for the smoke it lay so white—
An' you'd best go look for a new love.”

“O soldier, soldier come from the wars,
I'll up an' tend to my true love!”
“'E's lying on the dead with a bullet through 'is 'ead,
An' you'd best go look for a new love.”

Chorus:

“Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
Then I'll down an' die with my true love!”
“The pit we dug'll 'ide 'im an' the twenty men beside 'im—
An' you'd best go look for a new love.”

“Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
Do you bring no sign from my true love?”
“I brung a lock of 'air that 'e allus used to wear,
An' you'd best go look for a new love.”

F#m Bm A G
“Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
D A Bm F#7
O then I know it's true I've lost my true love!”
G D F C
“An' I tell you truth again—when you've lost the feel o' pain
Dm Am E7
You'd best take me for your true love.”

Chorus:
True love! New love!
Best take 'im for a new love,
The dead they cannot rise, an' you'd better dry your eyes,
An' you'd best take 'im for your true love.

Chorus:

Chorus instr x 2
Track Name: Snarleyow
Snarleyow (Rudyard Kipling)



Bm D Bm G
This 'appened in a battle to a batt'ry of the corps
D Bm G D
Which is first among the women an' amazin' first in war;
A D Em A
An' what the bloomin' battle was I don't remember now,
Bm G A Bm
But Two's off-lead 'e answered to the name o' Snarleyow.
Em Bm G D
Down in the Infantry, nobody cares;
Em G A Bm
Down in the Cavalry, Colonel 'e swears;
G D Em G
But down in the lead with the wheel at the flog
Bm G A Bm
Turns the bold Bombardier to a little whipped dog!

They was movin' into action, they was needed very sore,
To learn a little schoolin' to a native army corps,
They 'ad nipped against an uphill, they was tuckin' down the brow,
When a tricky, trundlin' roundshot give the knock to Snarleyow.

They cut 'im loose an' left 'im -- 'e was almost tore in two --
But he tried to follow after as a well-trained 'orse should do;
'E went an' fouled the limber, an' the Driver's Brother squeals:
"Pull up, pull up for Snarleyow -- 'is head's between 'is 'eels!"

The Driver 'umped 'is shoulder, for the wheels was goin' round,
An' there ain't no "Stop, conductor!" when a batt'ry's changin' ground;
Sez 'e: "I broke the beggar in, an' very sad I feels,
But I couldn't pull up, not for you -- your 'ead between your 'eels!"

'E 'adn't 'ardly spoke the word, before a droppin' shell
A little right the batt'ry an' between the sections fell;
An' when the smoke 'ad cleared away, before the limber wheels,
There lay the Driver's Brother with 'is 'ead between 'is 'eels.

Then sez the Driver's Brother, an' 'is words was very plain,
"For Gawd's own sake get over me, an' put me out o' pain."
They saw 'is wounds was mortial, an' they judged that it was best,
So they took an' drove the limber straight across 'is back an' chest.

The Driver 'e give nothin' 'cept a little coughin' grunt,
But 'e swung 'is 'orses 'andsome when it came to "Action Front!"
An' if one wheel was juicy, you may lay your Monday head
'Twas juicier for the Indians when the case begun to spread.
Track Name: Belts
Belts (Rudyard Kipling)

Dm Am Bb Am
There was a row in Silver Street that's near to Dublin Quay,
Dm Gm Bb Dm
Between an Irish regiment an' English cavalree;
Dm Am Bb Am
It started at Revelly an' it lasted on till dark:
Dm Gm Bb Dm
The first man dropped at Harrison's, the last forninst the Park.
Bb C Dm For it was: -- "Belts, belts, belts, an' that's one for you!"
Bb C A7 An' it was "Belts, belts, belts, an' that's done for you!"
Gm Dm O buckle an' tongue
C A7 Was the song that we sung
Dm C A7 From Harrison's down to the Park!

There was a row in Silver Street -- the regiments was out,
They called us "Delhi Rebels", an' we answered "Threes about!"
That drew them like a hornet's nest -- we met them good an' large,
The English at the double an' the Irish at the charge. Then it was: -- "Belts, &c."

There was a row in Silver Street -- an' I was in it too;
We passed the time o' day, an' then the belts went whirraru!
I misremember what occurred, but subsequint the storm,
A Freeman's Journal Supplemint was all my uniform. O it was: -- "Belts, &c."

There was a row in Silver Street -- they sent the Polis there,
The English were too drunk to know, the Irish didn't care;
But when they grew impertinint we simultaneous rose,
Till half o' them was Liffey mud an' half was tatthered clo'es. For it was: -- "Belts, &c."

There was a row in Silver Street -- it might ha' raged till now,
But some one drew his side-arm clear, an' nobody knew how;
'Twas Hogan took the point an' dropped; we saw the red blood run:
An' so we all was murderers that started out in fun. While it was: -- "Belts, &c."

Dm Am Dm Am
There was a row in Silver Street -- but that put down the shine,
Dm Am Dm Am
Wid each man whisperin' to his next: "'Twas never work o' mine!"
Dm Am Dm Am
We went away like beaten dogs, an' down the street we bore him,
Dm Gm Bb Dm
The poor dumb corpse that couldn't tell the bhoys were sorry for him.
Bb C Dm When it was: -- "Belts, belts, belts, an' that's one for you!"
Bb C Dm An' it was "Belts, belts, belts, an' that's done for you!"
C Dm O buckle an' tongue
C Dm Was the song that we sung
Dm C Dm From Harrison's down to the Park!

There was a row in Silver Street -- it isn't over yet,
For half of us are under guard wid punishments to get;
'Tis all a merricle to me as in the Clink I lie:
There was a row in Silver Street -- begod, I wonder why! But it was: -- "Belts, belts, belts, an' that's one for you!" An' it was "Belts, belts, belts, an' that's done for you!" O buckle an' tongue Was the song that we sung From Harrison's down to the Park!
Track Name: Shillin' a Day
Shillin' a Day

G D Em A
My name is O'Kelly, I've heard the Revelly
G A D A
From Birr to Bareilly, from Leeds to Lahore,
D
Hong-Kong and Peshawur,
Em A
Lucknow and Etawah,
G A D-A D
And fifty-five more all endin' in "pore".
Black Death and his quickness, the depth and the thickness,
Of sorrow and sickness I've known on my way,
But I'm old and I'm nervis,
I'm cast from the Service,
And all I deserve is a shillin' a day.
G D
(Chorus) Shillin' a day,
C G
Bloomin' good pay –
D-C-D A D
Lucky to touch it, a shillin' a day!

Oh, it drives me half crazy to think of the days I
Went slap for the Ghazi, my sword at my side,
When we rode Hell-for-leather
Both squadrons together,
That didn't care whether we lived or we died.
But it's no use despairin', my wife must go charin'
An' me commissairin' the pay-bills to better,
So if me you be'old
In the wet and the cold,
By the Grand Metropold, won't you give me a letter?
(Full chorus) Give 'im a letter --
'Can't do no better,
Late Troop-Sergeant-Major an' -- runs with a letter!
Think what 'e's been,
Think what 'e's seen,
Think of his pension an' ----

GAWD SAVE THE QUEEN.
Track Name: Troopin'
Troopin' (Rudyard Kipling)

(Old English Army in the East)

E G A E
TROOPIN', troopin', troopin' to the sea:
F#m Bm A E
'Ere 's September come again — the six-year men are free.
G D A Bm
O leave the dead be'ind us, for they cannot come away
Em G A Bm
To where the ship 's a-coalin' up that takes us 'ome to-day.

Em A Em A
We 're goin' 'ome, we 're goin' 'ome,
Em D
Our ship is at the shore,
Em
An' you must pack your 'aversack,
F#7
For we won't come back no more.
G Bm
Ho, don't you grieve for me,
A F#7
My lovely Mary-Ann,
Bm A
For I'll marry you yit on a fourp'ny bit
G F#7
As a time-expired man.

The Malabar's in 'arbour with the Jumner at 'er tail,
An' the time-expired 's waitin' of 'is orders for to sail.
Ho ! the weary waitin' when on Khyber 'ills we lay,
But the time-expired 's waitin' of 'is orders 'ome to-day.

They'll turn us out at Portsmouth wharf in cold an' wet an' rain,
All wearin' Injian cotton kit, but we will not complain.
They'll kill us of pneumonia — for that 's their little way —
But damn the chills and fever, men, we 're goin' 'ome to-day!

Troopin', troopin', winter's round again !
See the new draf 's pourin' in for the old campaign;
Ho, you poor recruities, but you've got to earn your pay —
What's the last from Lunnon, lads? We're goin' there to-day.

Troopin', troopin', give another cheer —
'Ere's to English women an' a quart of English beer.
The Colonel an' the regiment an' all who've got to stay,
Gawd's mercy strike 'em gentle — Whoop ! we 're goin' 'ome to-day.
We 're goin' 'ome, we 're goin' 'ome,
Our ship is at the shore,
An' you must pack your 'aversack,
For we won't come back no more.
Ho, don't you grieve for me,
My lovely Mary-Ann,
For I'll marry you yit on a fourp'ny bit
As a time-expired man.
Track Name: The Absent-minded Beggar
The Absent-Minded Beggar
Cm Bb
WHEN you've shouted "Rule Britannia," when you've sung "God save the Queen,"
Ab Fm Gm
When you've finished killing Kruger with your mouth,
Cm Bb
Will you kindly drop a shilling in my little tambourine
Ab Fm Gm
For a gentleman in khaki ordered South?
Ab Eb Db Cm
He's an absent-minded beggar, and his weaknesses are great—
Fm Cm
But we and Paul must take him as we find him—
G
He is out on active service, wiping something off a slate
Ab Eb Db Cm
And he's left a lot of little things behind him!
Fm Cm G
Duke's son—cook's son - son of a hundred kings
C Dm F G Am G Am
(Fifty thousand horse and foot going to Table Bay!)
Am Bdim F G
Each of 'em doing his country's work
Am G Am
(and who's to look after their things?)
Cm Dm Eb D
Pass the hat for your credit's sake,
Bb Cm A
and pay—pay—pay !

There are girls he married secret, asking no permission to,
For he knew he wouldn't get it if he did.
There is gas and coals and vittles, and the house-rent falling due,
And its more than rather likely there’s a kid.
There are girls he’s walked with casual. They’ll be sorry now he’s gone,
For an absent-minded beggar they will find him,
But it ain’t the time for sermons with the winter coming on
We must help the girl that Tommy’s left behind him!
Cook's son—Duke's son—son of a belted Earl
Son of a Lambeth publican—it's all the same to-day !
Each of 'em doing his country's work
(and who's to look after the girl?)
Pass the hat for your credit's sake,
and pay—pay—pay !

There are families by thousands, far too proud to beg or speak,
And they'll put their sticks and bedding up the spout,
And they'll live on half o' nothing, paid 'em punctual once a week,
'Cause the man that earns the wage is ordered out.
He's an absent-minded beggar, but he heard his country call,
And his reg'rnent didn't need to send to find him!
He chucked his job and joined it—so the job before us all
Is to help the home that Tommy's left behind him !
Duke's job—cook's job—gardener, baronet, groom.
Mews or palace or paper-shop, there's someone gone away!
Each of 'em doing his country's work
(and who's to look after the room?)
Pass the hat for your credit's sake,
and pay—pay—pay !

Let us manage so as, later, we can look him in the face,
And tell him—what he'd very much prefer
That, while he saved the Empire, his employer saved his place,
And his mates (that's you and me) looked out for her.
He's an absent-minded beggar and he may forget it all,
But we do not want his kiddies to remind him
That we sent 'em to the workhouse while their daddy hammered Paul,
So we'll help the homes that Tommy left behind him !
Cook's home—Duke's home—home of a millionaire,
(Fifty thousand horse and foot going to Table Bay !)
Each of 'em doing his country's work
(and what have you got to spare?)
Pass the hat for your credit's sake,
and pay—pay—pay !
Track Name: Screw-Guns
Screw-Guns (Rudyard Kipling)

Em C D Em G D
SMOKIN’ my pipe on the mountings, sniffin’ the mornin’ cool,
Am C G Am C Em
I walks in my old brown gaiters along o’ my old brown mule,
Am D Am D
With seventy gunners be’ind me, an’ never a beggar forgets
C D Am C D Em
It’s only the pick of the Army that handles the dear little pets—’Tss! ’Tss!

Chorus:
C D Em G D Am
For you all love the screw-guns the screw-guns they all love you!
G Bm C D Em G D
So when we call round with a few guns, o’ course you will know what to do—hoo! hoo!
C D Em G D Am
Jest send in your Chief an’ surrender it’s worse if you fights or you runs:
C D Em G C D B7
You can go where you please, you can skid up the trees, but you don’t get away from the guns!

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:
We’ve chivied the Naga an’ Looshai, we’ve give the Afreedeeman fits,
For we fancies ourselves at two thousand, we guns that are built in two bits—’Tss! ’Tss!

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.
D’you say that you sweat with the field-guns? By God, you must lather with us—’Tss! ’Tss!

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!


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!

Smokin’ my pipe on the mountings, sniffin’ the mornin’ cool,
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!
Track Name: Gentlemen Rankers
Gentlemen-Rankers
D Am G A
To the legion of the lost ones, to the cohort of the damned,
D G A
To my brethren in their sorrow overseas,
Bm G A Bm
Sings a gentleman of England cleanly bred, machinely crammed,
D G A
And a trooper of the Empress, if you please.
F#m Bm A E
Yea, a trooper of the forces who has run his own six horses,
C G A
And faith he went the pace and went it blind,
D C G A
And the world was more than kin while he held the ready tin,
D C A
But to-day the Sergeant's something less than kind.
G A Bm G
We're poor little lambs who've lost our way,
D A G
Baa! Baa! Baa!
G A Bm F#m
We're little black sheep who've gone astray,
G D A
Baa—aa—aa!
C#m D Em A
Gentlemen-rankers out on the spree,
A G F#m G
Damned from here to Eternity,
D A G A
God ha' mercy on such as we,
Bm A G
Baa! Yah! Bah!

Oh, it's sweet to sweat through stables, sweet to empty kitchen slops,
And it's sweet to hear the tales the troopers tell,
To dance with blowzy housemaids at the regimental hops
And thrash the cad who says you waltz too well.
Yes, it makes you cock-a-hoop to be "Rider" to your troop,
And branded with a blasted worsted spur,
When you envy, O how keenly, one poor Tommy being cleanly
Who blacks your boots and sometimes calls you "Sir".

If the home we never write to, and the oaths we never keep,
And all we know most distant and most dear,
Across the snoring barrack-room return to break our sleep,
Can you blame us if we soak ourselves in beer?
When the drunken comrade mutters and the great guard-lantern gutters
And the horror of our fall is written plain,
Every secret, self-revealing on the aching white-washed ceiling,
Do you wonder that we drug ourselves from pain?

We have done with Hope and Honour, we are lost to Love and Truth,
We are dropping down the ladder rung by rung,
And the measure of our torment is the measure of our youth.
God help us, for we knew the worst too young!
Our shame is clean repentance for the crime that brought the sentence,
Our pride it is to know no spur of pride,
And the Curse of Reuben holds us till an alien turf enfolds us
And we die, and none can tell Them where we died.
We're poor little lambs who've lost our way,
Baa! Baa! Baa!
We're little black sheep who've gone astray,
Baa—aa—aa!
Gentlemen-rankers out on the spree,
Damned from here to Eternity,
God ha' mercy on such as we,
Baa! Yah! Bah!