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Kipling's 'Tommy' - Updated


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Saw this on another forum and thought is was worthwhile posting here.

 

Rudyard Kipling's exceedingly good poem 'Tommy' updated for today.

 

I went into a gastro pub to get meself a meal,

This pay as you dine you see it ain't no real good deal.

The quality is pretty pish, and quantities are dire,

Whoever got rid of t'Catering Corps, has left us in the mire:

 

O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy is well paid";

But nobodies getting shot at Westminster, they're just getting laid-

There ain't no band begins to play, my boys, which means we have less medics,

And boys get harmed in Snatches and still there are few credits.

 

I were sent into a war as lairy as could be,

Wi' no proper role or kit, and nobody backing me;

They sent me to Afghanistan or into South Iraq,

But there weren't ever near enough of us, to get 'em back on track!!

 

For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy get on wi' it";

But there's "No more money in the pot," when the fan is hit by s***-

The fan is hit by s***, my boys, the fan is hit by s***,

It's "Carry on and do your best", when the fan is hit by s***.

 

Those lads that you depend on, and fund them on the cheap,

You treat 'em all like s*** and bugger the mission creep;

Don't worry that they live in slums, and will do yet for years,

Why should we treat 'em any different, why care about their fears,

 

Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy 'ow's yer life?"

Well life is crap he says, according to the wife-

Life is crap he says, she's gone home to mum, I've said goodbye t'wife ,

O life it's crap he says, when JPA f***s up your life.

 

No one likes us, what do you care, when we're back in camp,

Trying to * your daughters, drinking, and swinging on a lamp;

But we save your arse so many times, and do your dirty deeds,

But all you do is cut the money, and it's our family that bleeds:

 

While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy plug that dyke,"

But it's "Please to fill those sandbags, sir," when there's flooding and the like-

And fight those fires, my boys, you cannot go on strike,

Do some other fuckers dirty work, covered in the dung and shite,

When foot and mouth, or other mess becomes the country's plight.

 

You talk of cuts, reorganisations, savings and the like;

But it's getting to the point where we'll all be on our bike.

Sort out the quarters and the compensation, and prove it to our face,

Give us our own hospital, your treatment of our wounded is an absolute disgrace.

 

For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "the best little Army that there be!"

But the Covenant is nearly busted; Labour's done that to us don't you see?

An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' platitudes to appease;

But Tommy, he ain't blind - you bet that Tommy sees!

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Yep sure is a bit of a mess , but is'nt everything this lot touch.

 

Have you got a copy of the original Kipling poem so we can compare?

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I do like Kipling's poetry. Perhaps we should have a War Poetry Thread to educate the ignorant masses :P :P :P:lol:

 

TOMMY

 

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 that, 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 boys, 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,

There's trouble in the wind, my boys, 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!"

But 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!

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