Alright fellers anyone got the full commando poem that they could post on here wouldnt mind learning it. Not the one that starts with ''a word in the house, a stoke of a pen the country disbanded a fine body of men''
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Commando poem
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walksoflife
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Commando poem
''Aallll riiiiiiight''
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Obi Wan Kenobi
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walksoflife
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- Posts: 7
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This is the only one I could find...
Title: "Soldier an' Sailor Too"
Author: Rudyard Kipling
As I was spittin' into the Ditch aboard o' the Crocodile,
I seed a man on a man-o'-war got up in the Reg'lars' style.
'E was scrapin' the paint from off of 'er plates,
an' I sez to 'im, "'Oo are you?"
Sez 'e, "I'm a Jolly -- 'Er Majesty's Jolly -- soldier an' sailor too!"
Now 'is work begins by Gawd knows when, and 'is work is never through;
'E isn't one o' the reg'lar Line, nor 'e isn't one of the crew.
'E's a kind of a giddy harumfrodite -- soldier an' sailor too!
An' after I met 'im all over the world, a-doin' all kinds of things,
Like landin' 'isself with a Gatlin' gun to talk to them 'eathen kings;
'E sleeps in an 'ammick instead of a cot,
an' 'e drills with the deck on a slew,
An' 'e sweats like a Jolly -- 'Er Majesty's Jolly -- soldier an' sailor too!
For there isn't a job on the top o' the earth the beggar don't know, nor do --
You can leave 'im at night on a bald man's 'ead, to paddle 'is own canoe --
'E's a sort of a bloomin' cosmopolouse -- soldier an' sailor too.
We've fought 'em in trooper, we've fought 'em in dock,
and drunk with 'em in betweens,
When they called us the seasick scull'ry-maids,
an' we called 'em the Ass Marines;
But, when we was down for a double fatigue, from Woolwich to Bernardmyo,
We sent for the Jollies -- 'Er Majesty's Jollies -- soldier an' sailor too!
They think for 'emselves, an' they steal for 'emselves,
and they never ask what's to do,
But they're camped an' fed an' they're up an' fed before our bugle's blew.
Ho! they ain't no limpin' procrastitutes -- soldier an' sailor too.
You may say we are fond of an 'arness-cut, or 'ootin' in barrick-yards,
Or startin' a Board School mutiny along o' the Onion Guards;
But once in a while we can finish in style for the ends of the earth to view,
The same as the Jollies -- 'Er Majesty's Jollies -- soldier an' sailor too!
They come of our lot, they was brothers to us;
they was beggars we'd met an' knew;
Yes, barrin' an inch in the chest an' the arm, they was doubles o' me an' you;
For they weren't no special chrysanthemums -- soldier an' sailor too!
To take your chance in the thick of a rush, with firing all about,
Is nothing so bad when you've cover to 'and, an' leave an' likin' to shout;
But to stand an' be still to the Birken'ead drill
is a damn tough bullet to chew,
An' they done it, the Jollies -- 'Er Majesty's Jollies --
soldier an' sailor too!
Their work was done when it 'adn't begun; they was younger nor me an' you;
Their choice it was plain between drownin' in 'eaps
an' bein' mopped by the screw,
So they stood an' was still to the Birken'ead drill, soldier an' sailor too!
We're most of us liars, we're 'arf of us thieves,
an' the rest are as rank as can be,
But once in a while we can finish in style
(which I 'ope it won't 'appen to me).
But it makes you think better o' you an' your friends,
an' the work you may 'ave to do,
When you think o' the sinkin' Victorier's Jollies -- soldier an' sailor too!
Now there isn't no room for to say ye don't know --
they 'ave proved it plain and true --
That whether it's Widow, or whether it's ship, Victorier's work is to do,
An' they done it, the Jollies -- 'Er Majesty's Jollies --
soldier an' sailor too!
-THE END-
Rudyard Kipling's poem: 'Soldier an' Sailor Too'
Title: "Soldier an' Sailor Too"
Author: Rudyard Kipling
As I was spittin' into the Ditch aboard o' the Crocodile,
I seed a man on a man-o'-war got up in the Reg'lars' style.
'E was scrapin' the paint from off of 'er plates,
an' I sez to 'im, "'Oo are you?"
Sez 'e, "I'm a Jolly -- 'Er Majesty's Jolly -- soldier an' sailor too!"
Now 'is work begins by Gawd knows when, and 'is work is never through;
'E isn't one o' the reg'lar Line, nor 'e isn't one of the crew.
'E's a kind of a giddy harumfrodite -- soldier an' sailor too!
An' after I met 'im all over the world, a-doin' all kinds of things,
Like landin' 'isself with a Gatlin' gun to talk to them 'eathen kings;
'E sleeps in an 'ammick instead of a cot,
an' 'e drills with the deck on a slew,
An' 'e sweats like a Jolly -- 'Er Majesty's Jolly -- soldier an' sailor too!
For there isn't a job on the top o' the earth the beggar don't know, nor do --
You can leave 'im at night on a bald man's 'ead, to paddle 'is own canoe --
'E's a sort of a bloomin' cosmopolouse -- soldier an' sailor too.
We've fought 'em in trooper, we've fought 'em in dock,
and drunk with 'em in betweens,
When they called us the seasick scull'ry-maids,
an' we called 'em the Ass Marines;
But, when we was down for a double fatigue, from Woolwich to Bernardmyo,
We sent for the Jollies -- 'Er Majesty's Jollies -- soldier an' sailor too!
They think for 'emselves, an' they steal for 'emselves,
and they never ask what's to do,
But they're camped an' fed an' they're up an' fed before our bugle's blew.
Ho! they ain't no limpin' procrastitutes -- soldier an' sailor too.
You may say we are fond of an 'arness-cut, or 'ootin' in barrick-yards,
Or startin' a Board School mutiny along o' the Onion Guards;
But once in a while we can finish in style for the ends of the earth to view,
The same as the Jollies -- 'Er Majesty's Jollies -- soldier an' sailor too!
They come of our lot, they was brothers to us;
they was beggars we'd met an' knew;
Yes, barrin' an inch in the chest an' the arm, they was doubles o' me an' you;
For they weren't no special chrysanthemums -- soldier an' sailor too!
To take your chance in the thick of a rush, with firing all about,
Is nothing so bad when you've cover to 'and, an' leave an' likin' to shout;
But to stand an' be still to the Birken'ead drill
is a damn tough bullet to chew,
An' they done it, the Jollies -- 'Er Majesty's Jollies --
soldier an' sailor too!
Their work was done when it 'adn't begun; they was younger nor me an' you;
Their choice it was plain between drownin' in 'eaps
an' bein' mopped by the screw,
So they stood an' was still to the Birken'ead drill, soldier an' sailor too!
We're most of us liars, we're 'arf of us thieves,
an' the rest are as rank as can be,
But once in a while we can finish in style
(which I 'ope it won't 'appen to me).
But it makes you think better o' you an' your friends,
an' the work you may 'ave to do,
When you think o' the sinkin' Victorier's Jollies -- soldier an' sailor too!
Now there isn't no room for to say ye don't know --
they 'ave proved it plain and true --
That whether it's Widow, or whether it's ship, Victorier's work is to do,
An' they done it, the Jollies -- 'Er Majesty's Jollies --
soldier an' sailor too!
-THE END-
Rudyard Kipling's poem: 'Soldier an' Sailor Too'
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Obi Wan Kenobi
- Guest
Or this:
He ain't exactly a Tommy, he ain't exactly a Tar, He ain't too cocky or nothing, like the best blokes never are. They christened him Leatherneck, Jolly and a ruddy old bullock he's been, for if there's a war, afloat or shore, they call on "The Blinkin Marine".
When poor old Belgium was wobbly and O'errun by a torrent of Huns, Antwerp lay naked and listened wide - eyed to the bombs and the guns. It was just a chance in a million for Willie he wasn't so green. But we weren't far wrong when we sent him along, the Leather-necked bloke the Marine.
He's frozen in ice in the Arctic, he's sweated in African heat, he smiled at the welcome at Ypres, he's popped off the guns with the fleet. But where trouble is brewing or something that's doing, then send for "The Blinkin Marine".
They say that all dumps had a dud shell, well - I once saw a Hun that was kind, I once saw a Yank that had no w@#k and a skipper who'd never been mined. But if you saw the mole at Zeebrugge, when machine guns were sweeping it clean, Then you'll agree there's no such thing, in this world as a dud Marine.
When earth's little canter is over, and the sun burns the colour of lead and the last bugle call is sounding to summon the quick and the dead. There may be a panic by people who don't know what discipline means, but I'll wager my pay the first to obey, will be The last of "The Blinkin Marines".
He ain't exactly a Tommy, he ain't exactly a Tar, He ain't too cocky or nothing, like the best blokes never are. They christened him Leatherneck, Jolly and a ruddy old bullock he's been, for if there's a war, afloat or shore, they call on "The Blinkin Marine".
When poor old Belgium was wobbly and O'errun by a torrent of Huns, Antwerp lay naked and listened wide - eyed to the bombs and the guns. It was just a chance in a million for Willie he wasn't so green. But we weren't far wrong when we sent him along, the Leather-necked bloke the Marine.
He's frozen in ice in the Arctic, he's sweated in African heat, he smiled at the welcome at Ypres, he's popped off the guns with the fleet. But where trouble is brewing or something that's doing, then send for "The Blinkin Marine".
They say that all dumps had a dud shell, well - I once saw a Hun that was kind, I once saw a Yank that had no w@#k and a skipper who'd never been mined. But if you saw the mole at Zeebrugge, when machine guns were sweeping it clean, Then you'll agree there's no such thing, in this world as a dud Marine.
When earth's little canter is over, and the sun burns the colour of lead and the last bugle call is sounding to summon the quick and the dead. There may be a panic by people who don't know what discipline means, but I'll wager my pay the first to obey, will be The last of "The Blinkin Marines".
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Obi Wan Kenobi
- Guest
Or this:
Footsteps, blood red from glories of the past.
Fleeting moments, memories, cannot last.
Hail the heros swathed in gold,
Laurel bedecked men of steel, with manner bold.
Blood red footsteps ever onward plod,
Ever forwards over sunscorched sod.
Through hail and sleet, snow and rain,
Never falter, advancing strain,
Irrespective of terrain.
Through frozen, sunstroked, retching ill,
They are tere to fight and fight they will,
They'll battle with courage, and consummate skill,
For defeat is a far too bitter pill.
They wear a Green beret, they wear it with pride,
They laugh at adversity and brush it aside.
Yet they are but human, they feel fear, they feel pain,
But when they are in action they never complain.
They reach their objective, capture or kill,
What they do they do with a will.
They are men of distinction, the cream of the crop,
They surmount every obstacle, they never do stop.
For they are the finest the worlds ever seen,
The ultimate professional fighting machine.
They are the first and they are the foremost.
They lay their lives on the line for country and Queen,
But they think nothing of it.
They are the Royal Marines.
Footsteps, blood red from glories of the past.
Fleeting moments, memories, cannot last.
Hail the heros swathed in gold,
Laurel bedecked men of steel, with manner bold.
Blood red footsteps ever onward plod,
Ever forwards over sunscorched sod.
Through hail and sleet, snow and rain,
Never falter, advancing strain,
Irrespective of terrain.
Through frozen, sunstroked, retching ill,
They are tere to fight and fight they will,
They'll battle with courage, and consummate skill,
For defeat is a far too bitter pill.
They wear a Green beret, they wear it with pride,
They laugh at adversity and brush it aside.
Yet they are but human, they feel fear, they feel pain,
But when they are in action they never complain.
They reach their objective, capture or kill,
What they do they do with a will.
They are men of distinction, the cream of the crop,
They surmount every obstacle, they never do stop.
For they are the finest the worlds ever seen,
The ultimate professional fighting machine.
They are the first and they are the foremost.
They lay their lives on the line for country and Queen,
But they think nothing of it.
They are the Royal Marines.
-
Obi Wan Kenobi
- Guest
Or perhaps this:
All is not lost, those berets of green Are worn to this day by each Royal Marine.
The tradition is carried with a great deal of pride And told in the barracks are the stories world wide.
There are tales of the jungle , fighting the communists red, Of Radfan and Dhala where the sun sears your head.
Of Cyprus and Suez. Hong Kong and Korea, The Palestine blockade, of wars far and near.
From the tropics to the Arctic, the Royals are all found Ensuring the Flank of Norway is sound,
Commachio company defends the oil rigs And in Northern Ireland they all do their “gigs”
The Falklands conflict, who can forget The blood that was shed on Mount Harriet,
Green berets along with those wearing red Proved to the Argies the “Lion” is not dead.
The legend lives on and will grow year by year, And Britain's adversaries, the Green Beret will fear.
As history proves, the Green Beret men In the heat of the battle, can never say “when”.
All is not lost, those berets of green Are worn to this day by each Royal Marine.
The tradition is carried with a great deal of pride And told in the barracks are the stories world wide.
There are tales of the jungle , fighting the communists red, Of Radfan and Dhala where the sun sears your head.
Of Cyprus and Suez. Hong Kong and Korea, The Palestine blockade, of wars far and near.
From the tropics to the Arctic, the Royals are all found Ensuring the Flank of Norway is sound,
Commachio company defends the oil rigs And in Northern Ireland they all do their “gigs”
The Falklands conflict, who can forget The blood that was shed on Mount Harriet,
Green berets along with those wearing red Proved to the Argies the “Lion” is not dead.
The legend lives on and will grow year by year, And Britain's adversaries, the Green Beret will fear.
As history proves, the Green Beret men In the heat of the battle, can never say “when”.
