The way of the warhorse to “Bonnie Dundee”! Screw-Gun Mules As 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, And it’s our delight on a mountain height, with a leg or two to spare! 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, And it’s our delight on a mountain height with a leg or two to spare! Commissariat Camels We haven’t a camelty tune of our own To help us trollop along, But every neck is a hairy trombone ( Rtt-ta-ta-ta! is a hairy trombone!) And this is 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 Together Children 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 they March 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.