The World's Great Masterpieces

An' hustlin' drunken sodgers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.

Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy,
'ow's yer soul? 29

But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes," when the drums begin
to roll,

The drums begin to roll, my boys, etc.

We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduct isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints.

While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy
fall be'ind";

But it's "Please to walk in front, sir," when there's trouble
in the wind,

There's trouble in the wind, my boys, etc.

You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow's uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.

For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out,
the brute!"

But it's "Savior of 'is country" when the guns begin to

shoot;

An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you

please;

An' Tommy aint a bloomin' fool-you bet that Tommy
sees !

"FUZZY WUZZY."

(SOUDAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.)

WE'VE fought with many men acrost the seas,
An' some of 'em was brave an' some was not:

The Paythan an' the Zulu an' Burmese;
But the Fuzzy was the finest o' the lot.
We never got a ha'porth's change of 'im:

'E squatted in the scrub an' 'ocked our 'orses,

'E cut our sentries up at Suakim,

An' 'e played the cat an' banjo with our forces.

So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome in the Sowdan;
You're a pore benighted 'eathen but a first-class fightin' man;
We gives you your certifikit, an' if you want it signed,

We'll come an' 'ave a romp with you whenever you're inclined.

We took our chanst among the Kyber 'ills,
The Boers knocked us silly at a mile,
The Burman guv us Irriwaddy chills,

An' a Zulu impi dished us up in style:
But all we ever got from such as they

Was pop to what the Fuzzy made us swaller; We 'eld our bloomin' own, the papers say,

But man for man the Fuzzy knocked us 'oller.

Then 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an' the missis and the kid;
Our orders was to break you, an' of course we went an' did.
We sloshed you with Martinis, an' it wasn't 'ardly fair;
But for all the odds agin you, Fuzzy-Wuz, you bruk the square.

'E 'asn't got no papers of 'is own,

'E 'asn't got no medals nor rewards, So we must certify the skill 'e's shown

In usin' of 'is long two-'anded swords :
When 'e's 'oppin in an' out among the bush
With 'is coffin-'eaded shield an' shovel spear,
A 'appy day with Fuzzy on the rush

Will last a 'ealthy Tommy for a year.

So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an' your friends which is no

more,

If we 'adn't lost some messmates we would 'elp you to deplore;
But give an' take's the gospel, an' we'll call the bargain fair,
For if you 'ave lost more than us, you crumpled up the square!

'E rushes at the smoke when we let drive,

An', before we know, 'e's 'ackin' at our 'ead;

'E's all 'ot sand an' ginger when alive,

An' 'e's generally shammin' when 'e's dead.

'E's a daisy, 'e's a ducky, 'e's a lamb!

'E's a injia-rubber idiot on the spree,
'E's the on'y thing that doesn't care a damn
For the Regiment o' British Infantree.

So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome in the Sowdan;
You're a pore benighted 'eathen but a first-class fightin' man;
An' 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, with your 'ayrick 'ead of
'air

You big black boundin' beggar for you bruk a British

square.

SOLDIER, SOLDIER.

"SOLDIER, Soldier come from the wars,

Why don't you march with my true love?"

"We're fresh from off the ship, an' 'e's maybe give the slip. An' you'd best go look for a new love."

New love! True love!

Best go look for a new love,

The dead they cannot rise, an' you'd better dry your eyes,
An' you'd best go look for a new love.