By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin’ lazy at the sea, There's a Burma girl a-settin’, and I know she thinks o’ me; For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say: “Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!”
Come you back to Mandalay, Where the old Flotilla lay: Ca n't you‘ ear their paddles chunkin’ from Rangoon to Mandalay? On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin’ - fishes play, An’ the dawn comes up like thunder outer China‘ crost the Bay! ‘ Er petticoat was yaller an’‘ er little cap was green, An’‘ er name was Supi-yaw-lat — jes’ the same as Theebaw's Queen,
An’ I seed her first a-smokin’ of a whackin’ white cheroot, An’ a-wastin’ Christian kisses on an‘ eathen idol's foot: Bloomin’ idol made o'mud — Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd —
Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed‘ er where she stud! On the 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 “Kulla-lo-lo!”
With‘ er arm upon my shoulder an’‘ er cheek agin’ my cheek We useter watch the steamers an’ the hathis pilin’ teak. Elephints a-pilin’ teak In the sludgy, squdgy creek,
Where the silence‘ ung that‘ eavy you was‘ arf afraid to speak! On the road to Mandalay... But that's all shove be'ind me — long ago an’ fur away, An’ there ai n't no‘ busses runnin’ from the Bank to Mandalay;
An’ I'm learnin’‘ ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells: “If you've‘ eard the East a-callin’, you wo n't never‘ eed naught else.” No! you wo n't‘ eed nothin’ else But them spicy garlic smells,
An’ the sunshine an’ the palm-trees an’ the tinkly temple-bells; On the road to Mandalay... I am sick o’ wastin’ leather on these gritty pavin’ - stones, An’ the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;
Tho’ I walks with fifty‘ ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand, An’ they talks a lot o’ lovin’, but wot do they understand? Beefy face an’ grubby‘ and — Law! wot do they understand?
I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land! On the road to Mandalay... Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst, Where there are n't no Ten Commandments an’ a man can raise a thirst;
For the temple-bells are callin’, an’ it's there that I would be — By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea; On the road to Mandalay, Where the old Flotilla lay,
With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay! On the road to Mandalay, Where the flyin’ - fishes play, An’ the dawn comes up like thunder outer China‘ crost the Bay!
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