Land of toil, sweat and strain
Land of sun and maffish rain,
Sweat rash, footrot prickley heat
Aching hearts and blistering feet,
Swarms of flies that buzz and bite
Fans that hum throughout the night.
Land of scorpions, camels and bugs
Hasheesh, heena and other drugs,
Streets of sorrow, streets of shame
Streets you could never name,
Clouds of sand and dust that sends
The sanest ďbodĒ clean round the bend.
Donkeys, goats and pyiard dogs
Cut throat thieves and pestering clods,
Land where children in their teens
Sell souvenirs outside canteens,
Baksheesh! Baaksheesh! Is their cry
For this alone they live and die.
Where tinea thrives and gypo gripes
Where clods smoke hubbly bubbly pipes,
Where every native black and brown
Awaits for you to go down town,
Obnoxious smells, eternal strife
O for blighty and a wife.
Where tour-ex men just sit and gloat
While others dream about the boat,
There only aim to dodge and skive
Until their clearance chit arrives,
Their chief delight to laugh and shout
At some poor ďerkĒ thatís just come out.
Land of turbans, galaleah
Quais tamman, quais katir,
Land of chai and mungaria
Moya chappaties and Alsoppís beer,
Where one can always here men quake
About the thought of NAAFI break.
Oh! For Britainís happy life
Where people never know such strife,
My final chit, I am going home
Away from there Iíll never roam,
I am going home and Oh! How grand
To see green fields instead of sand.
Land of sorrow, filth and shame
Iíve seen you once but never again,
Iíll leave you now with no regrets
The sights Iíve seen Iíll never forget,
Nativeís heaven, white manís hell
ThisÖÖÖÖ! ADEN fare thee well.
Contributed by Bob Hambly