Tommy
by
Rudyard Kipling
|
I went into a public-’ouse to get a
pint o’ beer, |
The publican ’e up an’ sez, "We serve
no red-coats here." |
The girls be’ind the bar they laughed
an’ giggled fit to die, |
I outs into the street again an’ to
myself sez I: |
O it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’
"Tommy, go away": |
But it’s "Thank you, Mister Atkins,"
when the band begins to play― |
The band begins to play, my boys, the
band begins to play, |
O it’s "Thank you, Mister Atkins," when
the band begins to play.
|
I went into a theatre as sober as could
be, |
They gave a drunk civilian room, but
’adn’t none for me; |
They sent me to the gallery or round
the music-’alls, |
But when it comes to fightin’, Lord!
They’ll shove me in the stalls! |
For it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy than,
an’ Tommy, wait outside"; |
But it’s "Special train for Atkins"
when the trooper’s on the tide― |
The troopship’s on the tide, my boy,
the troopship’s on the tide, |
O it’s "Special train for Atkins" when
the trooper’s on the tide.
|
Yes, makin’ mock o’ uniforms that guard
you while you sleep |
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an’
they’re starvation cheap; |
An’ hustlin’ drunken soldiers when
they’re goin’ large a bit |
Is five times better business than
paradin’ in full kit. |
Then it’s Tommy this an’ Tommy that,
an’ "Tommy, ’ow’s yer soul?" |
But it’s "Thin red line of ’eroes" when
the drums begin to roll― |
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the
drums begin to roll, |
O it’s "Thin red line of ’eroes" when
the drums begin to roll.
|
We aren’t no thin red ’eroes, nor we
aren’t no blackguards too, |
But single men in barricks, most
remarkable like you; |
An’ if sometimes our conduck isn’t all
your fancy paints, |
Why, single men in barricks don’t grow
into plaster saints; |
While it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that,
an’ "Tommy, fall be’ind," |
But it’s "Please to walk in front,
sir," when there’s trouble in the wind― |
O it’s "Please to walk in front, sir,"
when there’s trouble in the wind.
|
You talk o’ better food for us, an’
schools, an’ fires, an’ all: |
We’ll wait for extry rations if you
treat us rational. |
Don’t mess about the cook-room slops,
but prove it to our face |
The Widow’s Uniform is not the
soldier-man’s disgrace. |
For it’s Tommy this an’ Tommy that, an’
"Chuck him out, the brute!" |
For it’s "Saviour of ‘is country" when
the guns begin to shoot; |
An’ it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that,
an’ anything you please; |
An’ Tommy ain’t a bloomin’ fool―you bet
that Tommy sees!
|
Rudyard
Kipling |
Classic Poems |
|
[ If ] [ The Way Through the Woods ] [ Danny Deever ] [ Recessional ] [ Tommy ] [ The White Man's Burden ] [ Chant-Pagan ] [ The Deep Sea Cables ] [ The Dykes ] [ Gunga Din ] [ The Gods of the Copybook Headings ] [ Fuzzy-Wuzzy ] [ The Land ] [ The Old Men ] [ My Rival ] |