| AN AIRMAN’S FAREWELL TO KHORMAKSAR !! Land of toil, sweat and strain, Land of sun and Marfish rain, Sweat-rash, foot rot, prickly heat, Aching Hearts and blistering feet. Fan that hum through out the night. Land of Scorpions, camels and bugs, Hashish, Heena and other drugs, Streets of sorrow, streets of shame Streets that you could never name, Clouds of sand and dust that send The sanest Bods right round the bend. Donkeys, goats and Pyard dogs, Cut throat thieves and pestering wogs, Land where children in their teens Sell souvenirs out side canteens Baksheesh, Baksheesh is their cry For this alone they live and die. Where Tinea Thrives and Gypo gripes Where Wogs smoke Hubbly Bubbly pipes, Where every native black and brown Awaits on you to go to town. Obnoxious smells, eternal strife. Oh for Blighty and the wife. Where tour ex men just sit and wait, While others dream about the boat, Their only aim to dodge and skive Until their clearance chit arrives. Their chief delight to laugh and shout. At some poor Erk that’s just come out. Land of Turbans, galabeah Qais Tamam Quas Katir Land of Chai and Mungaria Land of Chappaties and Alssop’s Bear Where one can always hear men quake About the thought of NAAFI break. Oh for Britain's happy life Where people never know such strife, My final chit, I going home Away from there I will never roam I’m going home and oh so grand To see green fields instead of sand. Land of sorrow filth and shame I’ve seen you once but never again, I.ll leave you now with no regrets The sights I’ve seen I will never forget Native’s heaven, white mans hell this Khormaksar fare the well |