There was no one like him, Horse or Foot,
Nor any of the Guns I knew;
And because it was so, why, of course he went and died,
Which is just what the best men do.

So it’s knock out your pipes and follow me!
And it’s finish up your swipes and follow me!
Oh, hark to the big drum calling,
Follow me—follow me home!

His mare she neighs the whole day long,
She paws the whole night through,
And she won’t take her feed because of waiting for his step,
Which is just what a beast would do.

His girl she goes with a bombardier
Before her month is through;
And the banns are up in church, for she’s got the beggar hooked,
Which is just what a girl would do.

We fought about a dog—last week it was—
No more than a round or two;
But I struck him cruel hard, and I wish I hadn’t now,
Which is just what a man can’t do.

He was all that I had in the way of a friend,
And I’ve had to find one new;
But I’d give my pay and stripe for to get the beggar back,
Which it’s just too late to do!

So it’s knock out your pipes and follow me!
And it’s finish up your swipes and follow me!
Oh, hark to the fifes a-crawling!
Follow me—follow me home!

Take him away! He’s gone where the best men go.
Take him away! And the gun-wheels turning slow.
Take him away! There’s more from the place he came.
Take him away, with the limber and the drum.

For it’s “Three rounds blank” and follow me,
And it’s “Thirteen rank” and follow me;
Oh, passing the love of women,
Follow me—follow me home!

Rudyard Kipling