THE BATTLE OF
GORE BLACK GULCH 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. ![]() |