Boots (Infantry Columns) by Rudyard Kipling



We're foot—slog—slog—slog—sloggin' over Africa
Foot—foot—foot—foot—sloggin' over Africa
(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up and down again!)
There's no discharge in the war !

Seven—six—eleven—five—nine—an'—twenty mile to—day—
Four—eleven—seventeen—thirty—two the day before
(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up and down again !)
There's no discharge in the war !

Don't—don't—don't—don't—look at what's in front of you.
(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again);
Men—men—men—men—men go mad with watchin' 'em,
An' there's no discharge in the war !

Count—count—count—count—the bullets in the bandoliers.
If—your—eyes—drop—they will get atop o' you !
(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up and down again)
There's no discharge in the war !

Try—try—try—try—to think o' something different—
Oh—my—God—keep—me from goin' lunatic !
(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again !)
There's no discharge in the war !

We—can—stick—out—'unger, thirst, an' weariness,
But—not—not—not—not the chronic sight of 'em—
Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again,
An' there's no discharge in the war !

'Tain`t—so—bad—by—day because o' company,
But night—brings—long—strings—o' forty thousand million
Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again
There's no discharge in the war !

I—'ave—marched—six—weeks in 'Ell an' certify
It—is—not—fire—devils, dark, or anything,
But boots—boots—boots—boots—movin'up an' down again,
An' there's no discharge in the war !