Nobody left the club much before nine o'clock, and formal
and informal dinner-parties took place every night. The "burra-
sahibs" or managers, most of whom came down to the club in smart
little pony-traps with uniformed "sais" on the back seat, were rather
inclined to keep to themselves except on big occasions. A party of
drunken juniors would turn on the gramophone after dinner and dance
with each other for hours. When they were no longer capable of
dancing, there would be a "sing-song," most of the songs being
unprintable and many of them uncomplimentary to those in authority.
One of them parodied a well-known "aria" as follows:

It's the sime the 'ole world over--
Isn't it the bloody shime?
It's the rich wot tikes their pleshers
And the poor wot gits the blime.

See the blasted burrah-sahibs
In their gigs they proudly sit
While the retched jungle-wallahs
Stumble home through slime and grit.

Mysteries Of Thailand: Green Prison by Leigh Williams. 1941.
Autobiographical memories of the author while spending twenty years in
Thailand.

See here: https://archive.org/details/in.ernet.dli.2015.79714/page/n109/mode/2up?q=%22a+bloody+shime%22