Verses 1889-1896 Part 3

(_Cornet_: Toot! toot!) W'y, they call a man a robber if 'e stuffs 'is marchin' clobber With the -- (_Chorus_) Loo! loo! Lulu! lulu! Loo! loo! Loot! loot! loot!

Ow the loot!

Bloomin' loot!

That's the thing to make the boys git up an' shoot!

It's the same with dogs an' men, If you'd make 'em come again Clap 'em forward with a Loo! loo! Lulu! Loot!

(_ff_) Whoopee! Tear 'im, puppy! Loo! loo! Lulu! Loot! loot! loot!

If you've knocked a n.i.g.g.e.r edgeways when 'e's thrustin' for your life, You must leave 'im very careful where 'e fell; An' may thank your stars an' gaiters if you didn't feel 'is knife That you ain't told off to bury 'im as well.

Then the sweatin' Tommies wonder as they spade the beggars under Why lootin' should be entered as a crime; So if my song you'll 'ear, I will learn you plain an' clear 'Ow to pay yourself for fightin' overtime.

(_Chorus_) With the loot, . . .

Now remember when you're 'acking round a gilded Burma G.o.d That 'is eyes is very often precious stones; An' if you treat a n.i.g.g.e.r to a dose o' cleanin'-rod 'E's like to show you everything 'e owns.

When 'e won't prodooce no more, pour some water on the floor Where you 'ear it answer 'ollow to the boot (_Cornet_: Toot! toot!) -- When the ground begins to sink, shove your baynick down the c.h.i.n.k, An' you're sure to touch the -- (_Chorus_) Loo! loo! Lulu! Loot! loot! loot!

Ow the loot! . . .

When from 'ouse to 'ouse you're 'unting, you must always work in pairs -- It 'alves the gain, but safer you will find -- For a single man gets bottled on them twisty-wisty stairs, An' a woman comes and clobs 'im from be'ind.

When you've turned 'em inside out, an' it seems beyond a doubt As if there weren't enough to dust a flute (_Cornet_: Toot! toot!) -- Before you sling your 'ook, at the 'ousetops take a look, For it's underneath the tiles they 'ide the loot.

(_Chorus_) Ow the loot! . . .

You can mostly square a Sergint an' a Quartermaster too, If you only take the proper way to go; _I_ could never keep my pickin's, but I've learned you all I knew -- An' don't you never say I told you so.

An' now I'll bid good-bye, for I'm gettin' rather dry, An' I see another tunin' up to toot (_Cornet_: Toot! toot!) -- So 'ere's good-luck to those that wears the Widow's clo'es, An' the Devil send 'em all they want o' loot!

(_Chorus_) Yes, the loot, Bloomin' loot!

In the tunic an' the mess-tin an' the boot!

It's the same with dogs an' men, If you'd make 'em come again (_fff_) Whoop 'em forward with a Loo! loo! Lulu! Loot! loot! loot!

Heeya! Sick 'im, puppy! Loo! loo! Lulu! Loot! loot! loot!

"SNARLEYOW"

This 'appened in a battle to a batt'ry of the corps Which is first among the women an' amazin' first in war; An' what the bloomin' battle was I don't remember now, But Two's off-lead 'e answered to the name o' _Snarleyow_.

Down in the Infantry, n.o.body cares; Down in the Cavalry, Colonel 'e swears; But down in the lead with the wheel at the flog 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' sh.e.l.l 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 n.i.g.g.e.rs when the case begun to spread.

The moril of this story, it is plainly to be seen: You 'avn't got no families when servin' of the Queen -- You 'avn't got no brothers, fathers, sisters, wives, or sons -- If you want to win your battles take an' work your bloomin' guns!

Down in the Infantry, n.o.body cares; Down in the Cavalry, Colonel 'e swears; But down in the lead with the wheel at the flog Turns the bold Bombardier to a little whipped dog!

THE WIDOW AT WINDSOR

'Ave you 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor With a hairy gold crown on 'er 'ead?

She 'as ships on the foam -- she 'as millions at 'ome, An' she pays us poor beggars in red.

(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!) Then 'ere's to the Widow at Windsor, An' 'ere's to the stores an' the guns, The men an' the 'orses what makes up the forces O' Missis Victorier's sons.

(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!)

BELTS

There was a row in Silver Street that's near to Dublin Quay, Between an Irish regiment an' English cavalree; It started at Revelly an' it lasted on till dark: 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 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 . . .

There was a row in Silver Street -- an' I was in it too; We pa.s.sed 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 . . .

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 . . .

There was a row in Silver Street -- it might ha' raged till now, But some one drew his side-arm clear, an' n.o.body 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 . . .