Jim Croce - Gunga Din

You may talk of gin and beer
When you're stationed way out here
An' you're sent to penny fights an' Aldershot it
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work for water
An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.

Now in Inja's sunny clime
Where I used to spend my time
Servin' her Majesty the Queen
Of all the black faced crew
The finest man I knew
Was regimental bhisti, Gunga Din
The uniform he wore
Was nothin' much before
An' rather less than half of that behind
But a piece of twisty rag
An' a goatskin water bag
Was all the field equipment he could find

When a sweatin' troop train lay
In a sidin' through the day
Where the heat would make you bloomin' eyebrows crawl
We shouted, "Harry by"
Till our throats were bricky-dry