Ch. 13: Parade Song of the Camp Animals

by Rudyard Kipling

　　SCREW-GUN MULESAs me and my companions were scrambling up a hill, The path was lost in rolling stones, but we went forward still; For we can wriggle and climb, my lads, and turn up everywhere, Oh, it's our delight on a mountain height, with a leg or two tospare!Good luck to every sergeant, then, that lets us pick our road; Bad luck to all the driver-men that cannot pack a load: For we can wriggle and climb, my lads, and turn up everywhere, Oh, it's our delight on a mountain height, with a leg or two tospare!COMMISSARIAT CAMELSWe haven't a camelty tune of our own To help us trollop along,But every neck is a hair trombone (Rtt-ta-ta-ta! is a hair trombone!) And this our marching-song:Can't! Don't! Shan't! Won't! Pass it along the line!Somebody's pack has slid from his back, Wish it were only mine!Somebody's load has tipped off in the road-- Cheer for a halt and a row!Urrr! Yarrh! Grr! Arrh!Somebody's catching it now!ALL THE BEASTS TOGETHERChildren of the Camp are we,Serving each in his degree;Children of the yoke and goad, Pack and harness, pad and load. See our line across the plain, Like a heel-rope bent again,Reaching, writhing, rolling far, Sweeping all away to war!While the men that walk beside, Dusty, silent, heavy-eyed,Cannot tell why we or theyMarch and suffer day by day.Children of the Camp are we, Serving each in his degree; Children of the yoke and goad, Pack and harness, pad and load!