Left Hand Page

Reverse of song and plans, on military letters.

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Right Hand Page

‘Bad Wogs and Englishmen’, song or poem. by Unknown.

BAD WOGS AND ENGLISHMEN.

In tropical climes there are certain times of day
Which all the citizens assent

Are far too hot for government
Since only a fool would want to rule, they say
Lets give it to the White Man who is
Keen on being east of suez anyway

Papalaka, papalaka palalaka boo (Twice)
Digariga, digariga, digariga, digariga doo (Twice)

The Dhobis cry as they go to dry their garb
Because they’re absolutely lost without their Sahib.
Bad wogs and Englishmen
Are locked in the local clink.
The Assamese are harassed,
The Burmese are embarrassed,
Tonkins and Cochineals just sit in the sun and blink
To see their erstwhile ruler in the cooler.
In the Bicobars they all swore like cars Any labour Sars
When they found they were in control, On the sons of Alburquerque
And the Andamans drew up crazy plans. Are just also Rars
For a universal dole In administrative work
In Rangoon the natives swoon
If they’re even asked to think Told they have got to think
Yes bad wogs and Englishmen
Are locked in the local clink

But it really really it riles orientals miles the most
To find the White Man’s such a mug
he seems to be at home in jug. Goes on making rules in jug
He runs martial courts tho’ he’s got no shorts to boast: He prefers Kings Regs to a plate of eggs on toast
And they conclude he’ld try to govern
If you shut him in an oven with the roast.

Bolyboly bolyboly bolyboly baa (Twice)
Habaninny habaninny habaninny haa (Twice)

It seems such a shame when the English claim the earth
That they’re confined on such a narrow strip of turf.
Bad wogs and Englishmen
Are locked in the local clink.
The lightness smoking Tamils.
Have now run out of Camels.
The Chinese get on their knees
And pray for a decent drink.
They wonder what their [unknown] is doin’
In a jungle camp that is dark and damp
where the burma railroad weaves
The well bred white takes a firmer bite
On his pipe of brinjal leaves.
But Bangkok is out of stock
of rum, and they rage to think
That bad wogs and Englishmen
Are locked in the local clink.

Bad wogs and Englishmen
Are locked in the local clink.
The Malays sit and blubber
Instead of planting rubber.
In Tampin the thought of tin
Makes the Heart of the natives sink
For he has always learnt on Sir Shenton.
Men in Even Sarawak want the english back,
They reflect on their former joy To restore their former joy
When the Princess Pearl was a good good girl
Unattached to Harry Roy.
In Hong Kong the drains gone wrong
And raised a ghastly stink
But bad wogs and Englishmen
Are locked in the local clink.