On the banks of the River Schlemozzle,
Mid the deserts and sands of Dundalk,
I've hunted wild llamas in purple pyjamas,
I've eaten pea soup with a fork.
I've struggled with skivvies and oojah-ka-pivvies,
I've milked tabby cats in Tibet.
I've cut off the conkers from buzz-a-fazonkers,
But oh, the worst time I've had yet, was

On The Road To Mandalay, where you'll see the fried fish play.
They bring their own chips with them when it's early-closing day.
There's Ghurkas doing mazurkas with baboons inside their bunks,
There's kangaroos with carpet bags and elephants with trunks,
And fat men dump their 'ombongpong' inside their Clapham Juncs
On The Road To Mandalay.

In an old white-washed pagoda, looking Eastward to the West,
A Burmese girl from Bermondsey sits in a sparrow's nest.
She's as pretty as a picture, though she lost one eye they say,
Through the Black Hole of Calcutta, and the keyhole of Bombay.

Look as far as you can see, boy, look a little further son,
For that Burma girl is burning - stick a fork in, see if she's done.
Oh, that dainty dusky damsel, Indian features, proud and sweet;
Indian ink upon her fingers, Indian corns upon her feet.

There's not a drop of water, in this waste of desert land.
The soldiers' tongues are hanging out, and trailing in the sand.
They're hanging out like carpets, and you'll hear the natives say
'Mr Drage has laid the lino, On The Road To Mandalay.'

See that stately dromedary with his hind leg give a kick,
On his back there's two mosquitoes singing 'Stop Your Jockling, Tick'.
On the hump there sit two Hindus: when the drom-drom gives a cough
And they exit through the early doors, as the monkey says 'They're off!'

There's a farm on the horizon, looking eastward to Siam,
We could have some ham and eggs there, if they had some eggs and ham
They've only got one hen, they call her 'Mandy' by the way,
They found out she's a cock - that's why they can't make Mandy lay.

There's no maps for the soldiers, in this land of Gunga Din,
So they picked the toughest warrior out, and tattooed on his skin.
On his back he's got Calcutta, lower down he's got Bombay.
And you'll find him sitting peacefully On The Road To Mandalay.

On The Road To Mandalay,where the girls are tout-au-fait
They wear short skirts and shingled hair, and one dark foggy day,
I chased one in a kiosque...I'm a playful sort of chap,
I pulled her on my knee, then on the jaw I got a slap
I found a Gordon Highlander was sitting in my lap.