Bloomin' idol made o' mud—
Wot they called the Croat Gawd Rudd -
ITucky lot =' cared for idols when 1 kissed 'er where she stud!
On tile road to Mandalay—
When the mist was on the rice fields an’ the sun was droppin' slow.
She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing "Kiillalo-lo".
With ’er arm upon my shoulder an her cheek again my cheek
We tisler watch the steamers an' the hatliis pilin’ teak.
Elephints a pilin' teak
In tin' sludgy, scpnlgy creek.
Where the silence ding that Vavy you was 'arf afraid to speak!
tin the road to Mandalav- -
Rut that's all shove he'ind me long ago an’ fur away,
An' there ain't no 'hoses mimin' from the Honk to Mandalay;
An' I'm teamin' 'ere in London what the ten-year sodger tells;
“If you've Yard the East a rallin'.
Why you won't Yed nothin' else."
No! you won't Yed nothin' else
Hut them spicy garlic smells
An' the sunshine an' the palm trees an' the tinklv temple-hells'
On the road to Mandalay —
I am sick o' roastin' leather on these guttv pavin' stones.
An’ the blasted iienglish drizzle wakes the fever in my hones;
Tim' 1 walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand,
An’ they talks a lot o' lovin', hut wot do they understand?
Reefy fare an' grubby 'and—
I.aw! wot do they understand?
I’ve a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener, land!
On the road to Mandalav—
Ship me somewheres east of Suez where the best is like the worst.
