For although there ain't no women, yet there ain't no barrickyards,

So the officers goes shootin' an' the men they plays at cards. Till it's best foot first,

So 'ark an' 'eed, you rookies, which is always grumblin' sore, There's worser things than marchin' from Umballa to Cawn

pore;

An' if your 'eels are blistered an' they feels to 'urt like 'ell, You drop some tallow in your socks an' that will make 'em well.

We're marchin' on relief over Injia's coral strand,

Eight 'undred fightin' Englishmen, the Colonel, and the Band; Ho! get away you bullock-man, you've 'eard the bugle blowed,

There's a regiment a-comin' down the Grand Trunk Road; With its best foot first

And the road a-sliding past,

An' every bloomin' campin'-ground exactly like the last;

While the Big Drum says,

With 'is "rowdy-dowdy-dow !”—

“Kiko kissywarsti don't you hamsher argy jow?”

SHILLIN' A DAY

MY NAME is O'Kelly, I've heard the Revelly
From Birr to Bareilly, from Leeds to Lahore,

Hong-Kong and Peshawur.

Lucknow and Etawah,

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.

(Chorus) Shillin' a day,

Bloomin' good pay

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
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!

I'M 'ere in a ticky ulster an' a broken billycock 'at,

A-layin' on to the sergeant I don't know a gun from a bat; My shirt's doin' duty for jacket, my sock's stickin' out o' my boots,

An' I'm learnin' the damned old goose-step along o' the new recruits!

Back to the Army again, sergeant,

Back to the Army again.

Don't look so 'ard, for I 'aven't no card,
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' four-pence 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.

"T isn'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 barrick-gate.

Back to the Army again, sergeant

Back to the Army again.

'Oo would ha' thought I could carry an' port?1
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!

1 Carry and port his rifle.

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?

A man that's too good to be lost you,
A man that is 'andled an' made-
A man that will pay what 'e cost you
In learnin' the others their trade-parade!
You're droppin' the pick o' the Army
Because you don't 'elp 'em remain,
But drives 'em to cheat to get out o' the street
An' back to the Army again!

"BIRDS OF PREY" MARCH

(Troops for Foreign Service)

MARCH! The mud is cakin' good about our trousies. Front!-eyes front, an' watch the Colour-casin's drip.

Front! The faces of the women in the 'ouses

Ain't the kind o' things to take aboard the ship.

Cheer! An' we'll never march to victory.

Cheer! An' we'll never live to 'ear the cannon roar !

The Large Birds o' Prey

They will carry us away,

An' you'll never see your soldiers any more!

Wheel! Oh, keep your touch; we're goin' round a corner
Time!-mark time, an' let the men be'ind us close.
Lord! The transport's full, an' 'alf our lot not on 'er-
Cheer, O cheer! We're going off where no one knows.