On “Gungha Din”

Have you ever heard Schaffer declaim of old “Din,” “Din,” “Gungha Din,” He gives all its savors, Its turns and its quavers And all the camp flavors Of “Din,” “Gungha Din.”

I wish Rudyard Kipling could hear Schaffer chin On “Din,” “Gungha Din,” He catches its chiming, Its scanning and rhyming, And the depth of repining In “Din,” “Gungha Din.”

With a mien that is grave, old Schaffer wades in To “Din,” “Gungha Din!” You hear bullets flying And screeching, men sighing When Schaffer is plying His “Din,” “Gungha Din.”

If some night you hear a real terrible din After “Din,” “Gungha Din!” You’ll know they’re applauding And cheering and lauding Old Schaffer marauding Through “Din,” “Gungha Din.”