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Troopin. Rudyard Kipling

Troopin′, troopin′, troopin′ to the sea:
′Ere′s September come again, the six-year men are free.
O leave the dead be′ind us, for they cannot come away
To where the ship′s a-coalin′ up that takes us ′ome to-day.
We′re goin′ ′ome, we′re goin′ ′ome,
Our ship is at the shore,
An′ you must pack your ′aversack,
For we won′t come back no more.
Ho, don′t you grieve for me,
My lovely Mary-Ann,
For I′ll marry you yit on a fourp′ny bit
As a time-expired man.
 
The Malabar′s in ′arbour with the ~Jumner~ at ′er tail,
An′ the time-expired′s waitin′ of ′is orders for to sail.
Ho! the weary waitin′ when on Khyber ′ills we lay,
But the time-expired′s waitin′ of ′is orders ′ome to-day.
 
They′ll turn us out at Portsmouth wharf in cold an′ wet an′ rain,
All wearin′ Injian cotton kit, but we will not complain;
They′ll kill us of pneumonia, for that′s their little way,
But damn the chills and fever, men, we′re goin′ ′ome to-day!
 
Troopin′, troopin′, winter′s round again!
See the new draf′s pourin′ in for the old campaign;
Ho, you poor recruities, but you′ve got to earn your pay,
What′s the last from Lunnon, lads? We′re goin′ there to-day.
 
Troopin′, troopin′, give another cheer,
′Ere′s to English women an′ a quart of English beer.
The Colonel an′ the regiment an′ all who′ve got to stay,
Gawd′s mercy strike ′em gentle, Whoop! we′re goin′ ′ome to-day.
We′re goin′ ′ome, we′re goin′ ′ome,
Our ship is at the shore,
An′ you must pack your ′aversack,
For we won′t come back no more.
Ho, don′t you grieve for me,
My lovely Mary-Ann,
For I′ll marry you yit on a fourp′ny bit
As a time-expired man.

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