Jim Croce – Gunga Din (Guitar)

           Am               G
You may talk of gin and beer

                C               E
When you're stationed way out here

Am                          G                 Am
An' you're sent to penny fights an' Aldershot it

         Am             G
But when it comes to slaughter

          C                 E
You will do your work for water

            Am                   G              Am
An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.

        Am            G
Now in Inja's sunny clime

           C              E
Where I used to spend my time

Am            G           Am
Servin' her Majesty the Queen

      Am                G
Of all the black faced crew

     C            E
The finest man I knew

        Am      G            Am
Was regimental bhisti, Gunga Din

     Am         G
The uniform he wore

        C           E
Was nothin' much before

Am                        G          Am
An' rather less than half of that behind

        Am              G
But a piece of twisty rag

        C               E
An' a goatskin water bag

         Am             G               Am
Was all the field equipment he could find

        G
When a sweatin' troop train lay

        Am     G        Am
In a sidin' through the day

           C                     G               Am
Where the heat would make you bloomin' eyebrows crawl

      Am            G
We shouted, "Harry by"

        C                     E
Till our throats were bricky-dry

        Am              G                   Am
Then wopped him 'cause he couldn't serve us all.

           Am           G
He would dot an' carry one

        C                   E
Till the longest day was done

       Am               G           Am
An' never seemed to know the use of fear

        Am                G
If we charged a broke or cut

            C                E
You could bet your bloomin' nut

          Am            G               Am
He'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear.

        G
With his mussick on his back

           Am     G      Am
He would skip to our attack

         C              G             Am
An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire"

        Am              G
An' for all his dirty hide

             C                E
He was white, clear white inside

            Am             G            Am
When he went to tend the wounded under fire.

        Am   G    C     E
It was Din, Din, Din

          C               G                 Am
With the bullets kickin' dust spots on the green

                C            G
And when the cartridges ran out

             C                  E
You could hear the front files shout

        C               G         Am
Send ammunition mules, and Gunga Din!

    Am                 G
I shan't forget the night

        C               E
When I fell behind the fight

        Am                  G               Am
With a bullet where my belt plate should a' been

        Am               G
I was chokin' mad with thirst

        C                   E
An' the man that spied me first

            Am               G           Am
Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din

       G
He lifted up my head

        Am         G      Am
An' he plugged me where I bled

        C               G            Am
An' he gave me half a pint of water green

        Am              G
It was crawlin' and it stunk

        C                     E
But of all the drinks I've drunk

           Am              G            Am
I'm most grateful to the one from Gunga Din

       Am       G
He carried me away

        C         E
To where a dooli lay

        Am              G                  Am
An' a bullet came and drilled the beggar clean

       Am         G
He carried me inside

       C             E
An' just before he died

   Am                   G               Am
I hope you liked your drink said Gunga Din.

        G
So I'll meet him later on

        Am         G      Am
In the place where he as gone

              C               G           Am
Where it's always double drill and no canteen

            Am              G
He'll be squattin' on the coals

        C                      E
Givin' drinks to poor damned souls

      Am              G               Am
I'll catch a swig in hell from Gunga Din

       Am   G     C       E
It was Din, Din, Din

        C        G             Am
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din

            C                   G
Tho' I've belted you an' flayed you

              C              E
By the livin' God that made you

        C                G           Am     G Am C E Am G Am
You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din