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Rudyard Kipling - Route Marchin`
Work rating: Low

We`re marchin` on relief over Injia`s sunny plains,
A little front o` Christmas-time an` just be`ind the Rains;
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?~"*
 
* Why don`t you get on?
 
Oh, there`s them Injian temples to admire when you see,
There`s the peacock round the corner an` the monkey up the tree,
An` there`s that rummy silver grass a-wavin` in the wind,
An` the old Grand Trunk a-trailin` like a rifle-sling be`ind.
    While it`s best foot first, . . .
 
At half-past five`s Revelly, an` our tents they down must come,
Like a lot of button mushrooms when you pick `em up at `ome.
But it`s over in a minute, an` at six the column starts,
While the women and the kiddies sit an` shiver in the carts.
    An` it`s best foot first, . . .
 
Oh, then it`s open order, an` we lights our pipes an` sings,
An` we talks about our rations an` a lot of other things,
An` we thinks o` friends in England, an` we wonders what they`re at,
An` `ow they would admire for to hear us sling the ~bat~.*
    An` it`s best foot first, . . .
 
* Language.  Thomas`s first and firmest conviction is that
he is a profound Orientalist and a fluent speaker of Hindustani.
As a matter of fact, he depends largely on the sign-language.
 
It`s none so bad o` Sunday, when you`re lyin` at your ease,
To watch the kites a-wheelin` round them feather-`eaded trees,
For although there ain`t no women, yet there ain`t no barrick-yards,
So the orficers 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 Cawnpore;
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.
    For it`s best foot first, . . .
 
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?~"
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