SCREW-GUNS 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 o' the Army that handles the dear little pets - Tss! Tss! For you all love the screw-guns- the screw-guns they all love you. 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 you fights or you runs ; it's worse if You can go where you please, you can skid up the trees, but you don't get away from the guns. They send 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' Lushai, we've give the Afreedeeman 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 - If a man doesn't work, why, we drills 'im, an' teaches 'im 'ow to be'ave; 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 and spring without snatchin' or fuss, D' you say that you sweat with the field-guns? By God, you must lather with us For you all love the screw-guns - Tss! Tss! The eagles is screamin' around us, the river 's a-moanin' below, We're clear o' the pine and the oak-scrub, we 're out on the rocks and 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 jink o' the chains the jinglety. -Tss! Tss! For you all love the screw-guns 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 us 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 ! you all love the screw-guns For Screw-Guns 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 goat 'e knows where we passed. Stand easy, you long-eared old darlin's! ropes! With shrapnel! Tss! the wild Out drag Hold fast! - 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! Jest send in your Chief and surrender - it's worse if you fights or you runs ; You may hide in the caves, they'll be only your graves, but you don't get away from the guns! BELTS There was a row in Silver Street that's near to Dub lin Quay, Between an Irish regiment an' English calvaree; The first man dropped at Harrison's, the last forninst the Park. For 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 on 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 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; Belts I misremember what occurred, but subsequint the storm A Freeman's Journal Supplement was all my uniform. O it was: Belts -- There was a row in Silver Street - they sent the Polis there, The English were too drunk to know, the Irish did n'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 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 There was a row in Silver Street-but that took off the shine, Wid each man whishperin' to his next; "'T was never work o' mine!" We went away like beaten dogs, an' down the street we bore him, The poor dumb corpse that couldn't see the bhoys were sorry for him. When it was: Belts |