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Rudyard Kipling - The Young British Soldier
Work rating: Medium

When the `arf-made recruity goes out to the East
`E acts like a babe an` `e drinks like a beast,
An` `e wonders because `e is frequent deceased
   Ere `e`s fit for to serve as a soldier.
      Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
      Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
      Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
         So-oldier ~OF~ the Queen!
 
Now all you recruities what`s drafted to-day,
You shut up your rag-box an` `ark to my lay,
An` I`ll sing you a soldier as far as I may:
   A soldier what`s fit for a soldier.
      Fit, fit, fit for a soldier . . .
 
First mind you steer clear o` the grog-sellers` huts,
For they sell you Fixed Bay`nets that rots out your guts —
Ay, drink that `ud eat the live steel from your butts —
   An` it`s bad for the young British soldier.
      Bad, bad, bad for the soldier . . .
 
When the cholera comes — as it will past a doubt —
Keep out of the wet and don`t go on the shout,
For the sickness gets in as the liquor dies out,
   An` it crumples the young British soldier.
      Crum-, crum-, crumples the soldier . . .
 
But the worst o` your foes is the sun over`ead:
You ~must~ wear your `elmet for all that is said:
If `e finds you uncovered `e`ll knock you down dead,
   An` you`ll die like a fool of a soldier.
      Fool, fool, fool of a soldier . . .
 
If you`re cast for fatigue by a sergeant unkind,
Don`t grouse like a woman nor crack on nor blind;
Be handy and civil, and then you will find
   That it`s beer for the young British soldier.
      Beer, beer, beer for the soldier . . .
 
Now, if you must marry, take care she is old —
A troop-sergeant`s widow`s the nicest I`m told,
For beauty won`t help if your rations is cold,
   Nor love ain`t enough for a soldier.
      `Nough, `nough, `nough for a soldier . . .
 
If the wife should go wrong with a comrade, be loath
To shoot when you catch `em — you`ll swing, on my oath! —
Make `im take `er and keep `er:  that`s Hell for them both,
   An` you`re shut o` the curse of a soldier.
      Curse, curse, curse of a soldier . . .
 
When first under fire an` you`re wishful to duck,
Don`t look nor take `eed at the man that is struck,
Be thankful you`re livin`, and trust to your luck
   And march to your front like a soldier.
      Front, front, front like a soldier . . .
 
When `arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch,
Don`t call your Martini a cross-eyed old bitch;
She`s human as you are — you treat her as sich,
   An` she`ll fight for the young British soldier.
      Fight, fight, fight for the soldier . . .
 
When shakin` their bustles like ladies so fine,
The guns o` the enemy wheel into line,
Shoot low at the limbers an` don`t mind the shine,
   For noise never startles the soldier.
      Start-, start-, startles the soldier . . .
 
If your officer`s dead and the sergeants look white,
Remember it`s ruin to run from a fight:
So take open order, lie down, and sit tight,
   And wait for supports like a soldier.
      Wait, wait, wait like a soldier . . .
 
When you`re wounded and left on Afghanistan`s plains,
And the women come out to cut up what remains,
Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains
   An` go to your Gawd like a soldier.
      Go, go, go like a soldier,
      Go, go, go like a soldier,
      Go, go, go like a soldier,
         So-oldier ~of~ the Queen!
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