The ’orse ’e knows above a bit, the bullock’s
but a fool,
The elephant’s a gentleman, the battery-mule’s
a mule;
But the commissariat cam-u-el, when all is said an’
done,
‘E’s a devil an’ a ostrich an’
a orphan-child in one.
O the oont, O the oont, O
the Gawd-forsaken oont!
The lumpy-’umpy
‘ummin’-bird a-singin’ where ’e
lies,
’E’s blocked the
whole division from the rear-guard to the front,
An’ when we get
him up again—the beggar goes an’ dies!
‘E’ll gall an’ chafe an’ lame
an’ fight—’e smells most awful
vile;
’E’ll lose ’isself for ever if you
let ’im stray a mile;
’E’s game to graze the ‘ole day
long an’ ’owl the ’ole night through,
An’ when ’e comes to greasy ground ’e
splits ’isself in two.
O the oont, O the oont, O
the floppin’, droppin’ oont!
When ‘is long
legs give from under an’ ‘is meltin’
eye is dim,
The tribes is up be’ind
us, and the tribes is out in front—
It ain’t no jam
for Tommy, but it’s kites an’ crows for
’im.
So when the cruel march is done, an’ when the
roads is blind,
An’ when we sees the camp in front an’
’ears the shots be’ind,
Ho! then we strips ’is saddle off, and all ’is
woes is past:
’E thinks on us that used ’im so, and
gets revenge at last.
O the oont, O the oont, O
the floatin’, bloatin’ oont!
The late lamented camel
in the water-cut ’e lies;
We keeps a mile be’ind
‘im an’ we keeps a mile in front,
But ‘e gets into
the drinkin’-casks, and then o’ course
we dies.
1Camel—oo is pronounced like u in “bull,”
but by Mr. Atkins to rhyme with “front.”
If you’ve ever stole a pheasant-egg be’ind
the keeper’s back,
If you’ve ever snigged the washin’
from the line,
If you’ve ever crammed a gander in your bloomin’
’aversack,
You will understand this little song o’
mine.
But the service rules are ‘ard, an’ from
such we are debarred,
For the same with English morals does not suit.
(Cornet: Toot! toot!)
W’y, they call a man a robber if ’e stuffs
‘is marchin’ clobber With the—
(Chorus) Loo! loo! Lulu! lulu! Loo! loo!
Loot! loot! loot!
Ow the loot!
Bloomin’ loot!
That’s the thing to make the boys
git up an’ shoot!
It’s the same with dogs an’
men,
If you’d make ’em come again
Clap ’em forward with a Loo! loo!
Lulu! Loot!
(ff) Whoopee! Tear ’im, puppy!
Loo! loo! Lulu! Loot! loot! loot!
If you’ve knocked a nigger edgeways when ‘e’s
thrustin’ for your life,
You must leave ’im very careful where
’e fell;
An’ may thank your stars an’ gaiters if
you didn’t feel ’is knife
That you ain’t told off to bury ’im
as well.
Then the sweatin’ Tommies wonder as they spade
the beggars under
Why lootin’ should be entered as a crime;
So if my song you’ll ‘ear, I will learn
you plain an’ clear
‘Ow to pay yourself for fightin’
overtime.
