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Poem by Rudyard Kipling Parade-Song of the Camp-Animals. 4. Screw-Gun Mules As me and my companions were scrambling up a hill, The path was lost in rolling stones, but we went forward still; For we can wriggle and climb, my lads, an turn up everywhere And it's our delight on a mountain height, with a leg or two to spare! Good luck to every sergeant, then, that lets us pick our road: Bad luck to all the driver-men that cannot pack a load! For we can wriggle and climb, my lads, and turn up everywhere, And it's our delight on a mountain height, with a leg or two to spare! Rudyard Kipling Rudyard Kipling's other poems:
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