War Correspondent, The

You've heard of Brimstone Chapel, so of course I needn't say 
He's the latest and the greatest Correspondent of the day;
Well, here you have the privilege of gazing on that elf, 
I represent the papers and the "pippers" and myself.
I know a lot of Editors and Creditors and Subs 
Publishers and Polishers and Perishers and Pubs,
Novelists and Obelisks and "Parliament'ry Daddies"
Summer Salts and Senators and other too-ral-lad-dies.

And what I've gone through none'll ever know.
You'll find out	if you go to heaven — so,
Rule  Britannia! De Rougemont's out of the hunt; (Drum.) 
No one lives like a thoroughbred journalist, 
They're "hot stuff," and I'm the "infernalest," 
That's me — I'm he - The War Correspondent at the front [twice]

I've criticised the Cricketers and "biffed" the Buffaloes, 
Catalogued the Cattle and the Caterpillar shows,
Wherried up the Wandle, and the Severn and the Six,
Had to mix in Politics and other Lunatics.
I've swaggered with the Swazis, and the Swaddles and the Swabs, 
Caravans and Char-a-banes, and mobilized the mobs ; 
Caliphas—Calicoes—Caledonian Scotties,
Ottomen who're hotter than the bally Hottentotties.

At Wembley — no, at Kimberley — the Boers shut me in,	
Where Nicholson went "down the nick" through "neking" all the gin
They copped me on a Kopje — like a tiddler in a tank,
And a Burgher with a Mauser shot a pontoon in my flank. 
I know it was a spru-it — so I threw it in a trench,
And a goer of a Boer read a Warrant out in French;	
I was slandered and commandered — then they stripped me to my Jaeger.
And the Cornet who had torn it went and wore it in his Laager.

But I've risen from my prison with a wizen full of sobs, 
And I'm able now to cable for it's payable with " Bobs," 
Though the military Censor on my copy always drops, 
You rely on me at Spion — you're a lie — and other Kops.
Though the Generals and minerals may out me like a knife, 
And swear that I was never out of Fleet Street in my life, 
When we get to Pretoria — if I anticipate 'em,
I'll wallop some Pomatum on old Kruger's Ultimatum.


NB “Hottentot” is a racist term first used by the Dutch and later adopted in Britain. It refers to the clicking sound which features in the language of Southern African Khoisan peoples.