5. Gunga Din
The Original 3Ds Poetry Album (CD)
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Words by Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)

Music by Richard C. Davis

Lyrics

You may talk o' gin and beer
When you're quartered safe out 'ere,
An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.
Now in India's sunny clime,
Where I used to spend me time
A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them blackfaced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.

It was "Din! Din! Din!
You limpin' lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!
Din, Din, Din, Din, Din
Hie! slippery hitherao!
Water, get it! Panny Lao!
You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din." Din, Din

The uniform 'e wore
Was nothin' much before,
An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind,
For a piece o' twisty rag
An' a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment 'e could find.
When the sweatin' troop-train lay
By the sidin', through the day,
Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl;
We shouted "Hurry by!"
'Till our throats were bricky-dry.
And then we whopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all.

It was "Din! Din! Din!
You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been Din, Din?
Well, you put some juldee in it.
Or I'll marrow you this minute,
If you don't fill up my 'elmet, Gunga Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din!"
'E would dot an' carry one
'Till the longest day was done;
An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin' nut,
'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear.
With 'is mussock on 'is back,
'E would skip with our attack,
An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire,"
An' for all 'is dirty 'ide
'E was white, clean white, inside
When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire!

It was "Din! Din! Din!"
With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green.
When the cartridges ran out,
You could hear the front-files shout,
"Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"

I shan't forgit the night
When I dropped be'ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been.
I was chokin' mad with thirst,
An' the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.
Well, 'e lifted up my 'ead,
An' he plugged me where I bled,
An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water . . . green:
It was crawlin' and it stunk,
But of all the drinks I've drunk,
I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.

It was "Din! Din! Din!
'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen, Din Din, Din, Din, Din;
Well, 'e's chawin' up the ground,
An' 'e's kickin' all around:
For Gawd's sake bring the water, Gunga Din, Din, Din; Din; Din, Din!"

Well, they carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean.
Well, they put me safe inside,
An' just before 'e died,
"I 'ope you liked your drink," sez Gunga Din.
So I'll meet 'im later on
At the place where 'e is gone –
Where it's always double drill and no canteen;
'E'll be squattin' on the coals
Givin' drink to poor damned souls,
An' I'll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!

It was Din! Din! Din!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din, Din, Din!
Though I've belted you and flayed you,
By the heavens there that made you,
You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din, Din, Din; Din, Din, Din!