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Lyr Req: Young British Soldier (Kipling)


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GUEST,Smitty 22 May 01 - 11:27 PM
Sorcha 22 May 01 - 11:30 PM
Sorcha 22 May 01 - 11:37 PM
The Walrus 23 May 01 - 06:42 AM
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Subject: A poem/song by Rudyard Kipling
From: GUEST,Smitty
Date: 22 May 01 - 11:27 PM

Does anyone know the complete words and official title of a poem by Kipling that goes like:

"When you're wounded and lying on Afgahansistan's plains And the women come out to carve up your remains take out your rifle and blow out your brains and go to your god like a soldier"


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Subject: RE: Lyr Req: A poem/song by Rudyard Kipling
From: Sorcha
Date: 22 May 01 - 11:30 PM

Kipling poetry site

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Subject: RE: Lyr Req: A poem/song by Rudyard Kipling
From: Sorcha
Date: 22 May 01 - 11:37 PM

Title is "The Young British Soldier" and it is on this page too.

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Subject: Lyr Add: THE YOUNG BRITISH SOLDIER (R Kipling)
From: The Walrus
Date: 23 May 01 - 06:42 AM

I'm sorry, I left the line breaks out the first time around- Is there some way of removing my last post please?

Done. --JoeClone, 23-Apr-02.

Also to be found on Sorry, I can't do "blickies".

The words text is below, but, as a Kipling fan, I would seriously recommend you try looking at the sites listed in this thread.


The Young British Soldier

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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