By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin eastward to the sea, Theres a Burma girl a-settin, and I know she thinks o me; For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say: Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay! Come you back to Mandalay, Where the old Flotilla lay: Cant you ear their paddles chunkin from Rangoon to Mandalay? On the road to Mandalay, Where the flyin-fishes play, An the dawn comes up like thunder outer China crost the Bay! Er petticoat was yaller an er little cap was green, An er name was Supi-yaw-lat -- jes the same as Theebaws Queen, An I seed her first a-smokin of a whackin white cheroot, An a-wastin Christian kisses on an eathen idols foot: Bloomin idol made omud -- Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd -- Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed er where she stud! On the road to Mandalay . . . When the mist was on the rice-fields an the sun was droppin slow, Shed git er little banjo an shed sing Kulla-lo-lo! With er arm upon my shoulder an er cheek agin my cheek We useter watch the steamers an the hathis pilin teak. Elephints a-pilin teak In the sludgy, squdgy creek, Where the silence ung that eavy you was arf afraid to speak! On the road to Mandalay . . . But thats all shove beind me -- long ago an fur away, An there aint no busses runnin from the Bank to Mandalay; An Im learnin ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells: If youve eard the East a-callin, you wont never eed naught else. No! you wont eed nothin else But them spicy garlic smells, An the sunshine an the palm-trees an the tinkly temple-bells; On the road to Mandalay . . . I am sick o wastin leather on these gritty pavin-stones, An the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in my bones; Tho I walks with fifty ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand, An they talks a lot o lovin, but wot do they understand? Beefy face an grubby and -- Law! wot do they understand? Ive a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land! On the road to Mandalay . . . Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst, Where there arent no Ten Commandments an a man can raise a thirst; For the temple-bells are callin, an its there that I would be -- By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea; On the road to Mandalay, Where the old Flotilla lay, With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay! On the road to Mandalay, Where the flyin-fishes play, An the dawn comes up like thunder outer China crost the Bay!
Posted on: Fri, 22 Nov 2013 16:53:57 +0000
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