Chords for Jim Croce - Gunga Din

_ _ _ _ [Cm] _ You may talk of gin [G] and beer when you're stationed way out [Cm] here, and you're sent to penny fights
[G] in altar shuttle, but when it comes [Cm] to slaughter, you'll do your work for water, and you'll
lick the bloomin' boots of him that's got it. _
[Eb] _ [C] _ _ [Cm] Now in Inja's sunny [Ab] clime, where I used to spend my time, serving her majesty [Cm] the queen,
[Eb] Of all [F] the black-faced crew, the finest [Gm] man I knew, was regimental [Cm] beastie Gunga Deen.
The uniform he wore [Ab] was nothing much [Gm] before, and [Bb] rather less than half of that [Cm] behind.
But a piece of twisty rag, and a goatskin [Gm] water bag, was all the field equipment [Cm] he could find.
[Gm] When a sweatin' troop train lay [Cm] in a sidin' through the day, where the heat would [Bb] make
your bloomin' [Cm] eyebrows crawl, we shouted, hurry [Ab] by, till our throats were [Bb] bricky dry,
then [Ab] whopped him cause he couldn't [Cm] serve us all.
He would doft [Bb] and carry one, till the longest [Gm] day was done, never [Bb] seemed to know the use [Cm] of fear.
If we charged a broker cut, [Ab] you could bet your bloomin' not, he'd wait fifty paces right [Cm] flank rear.
With [Gm] his most sick on his back, [Cm] he would skip to our attack, [Ab] and watch us till the bugles [Cm] may retire.
And for all [Bb] his dirty hide, he was white clear [Gm] white inside, that went to [Bb] tend the wounded under [Cm] fire.
It was Deen, Deen, Deen, [Gm] bullets kicking dust [Cm] pots on the creek, _ and when [Bb] the cartridges ran out,
[Ab] you could hear the front [Gm] vials shout, send [Bb] ammunition mules, come [Cm] to deep.
_ _ _ I shan't forget [Bb] the night, when I fell [Gm] behind the fight, with a bullet [Bb] where my belt plate [Cm] should have been.
I was joking mad with thirst, [Ab] and the man that spied me first, [Eb] good old grinning grunt from [Cm] Gunga Deen.
_ [Gm] He lifted up my head, and [Cm] he plugged me where I bled, [Ab] and he gave me half a pint [Cm] of water green.
It was [F] crawling and it stunk, all the [Gm] drinks I've drunk, I'm most [Bb] grateful to the one from [Cm] Gunga Deen.
He carried [Bb] me away, [Ab] to where Dooley lay, and a bullet came and drilled [Cm] the beggar clean.
[Eb] He carried me inside, just [Gm] before he died.
Hope [Bb] you like your drink, said [Cm] Gunga Deen.
[Gm] So I'll meet him later on, in [Cm] the place where he has gone, where it's always double drill and no canteen.
He'll be squatting on [Bb] the coals, [Ab] giving drinks to poor damned [Gm] souls, catch a swig in hell from [Cm] Gunga Deen.
It was Deen, Deen, Deen, [Gm] you Lazarusian [Cm] leather Gunga Deen.
Though I felt that you and flayed you, [Gm] by the living God that made you, [Ab] you're a better man than I am. _
_ _ [Cm] _ _ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ [N] _