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 You’ve 'eard of the Oompagoompahs, sir
The mountains that used to lie
To the East of the Dampanopo, sir?
You’ve not, sir? Well, nor 'ave I.

Take two turnings past the Rockies, sir
Then keep to your left a bit
And there you’ll see a house by a tree
And you’ll know that that’s not it.

But down in the dell, where the ravens rave
And the screaming vultures vulch
You’ll come to a swamp where the doodahs romp
And that, sir, is Gore Black Gulch.

'Twas there one night in the twenties, sir
We sat as the lights grew dim
There was me and a bloke named Stoneybroke
And old catch-you-bending Jim.

We was 'aving our 'omely supper, sir
When Jim went pale to the lips
And we paused to 'ear wot 'ad filled with fear
The face wot was full of chips.

'E only said one word, Redskins! sir
And each man’s blood did freeze
As an arrow came thro’ the window frame
And stuck in the Cheddar Cheese.

'Down! Down!' cried Bill, and we loaded up
'Stand by the starboard poop'
As a shrapnel shell from the Redskins fell
With a splash in the Turtle Soup.

Then brave old Bill said, 'It’s all up boys'
And pale turned our beer stained faces
'I know no fear, but I daren’t stay here
I’ve broken my blooming braces.'

'Father, the Redskins press,' I cried
He answered with a frown
'Should a Captain fly or a Colonel die
When his trousers are coming down.'

Old Stoney’s cartridges all were gone
His beard was full of Redskin arrows
But he pelted their ships with our hardbaked chips
As tho’ he was feeding sparrows.

I rushed to the drawing-room window
And waving my bowler 'at
Cried, 'What have you done with the Hot cross bun?'
And no man dare answer that.

'Ark! what was that noise in the cistern?
The Redskins are in I think
Yes, see them a score on the pantry floor
And ten in the wash-house sink.

Well, things had come to a dreadful pass
When Bill did a noble thing
'E took command of a Steinway grand
And played for 'imself to sing.

Old Stoney rushed for 'is evening dress
'Twas years since the man had worn it
And started to, play in a dreadful way
Hymn 7 on 'is battered cornet.

I’ve never 'eard nothing like it, sir
It was more like a dreadful dream
And the Redskin hoard did with one accord
Sit down and begin to scream.

We put them out of their misery, sir
And scalped all their feathered pimps
Then we closed the door and went back once more
To our supper of tea and shrimps.