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Libertines new Video "Gunga Din" in ...where else?


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Had I seen Pete Docherty on WS , I'd have kicked his fucking head in.

 

The bloke is a waste of good sperm.

 

Saying that, I enjoyed the vid, anyone know when it was filmed and if the plod closed WS for it?

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Had I seen Pete Docherty on WS , I'd have kicked his fucking head in.

 

The bloke is a waste of good sperm.

 

Saying that, I enjoyed the vid, anyone know when it was filmed and if the plod closed WS for it?

It looks to me that the group has been super-imposed onto a filmed walk, but could well be wrong. The track is surprisingly good IMHO, as all the other Libertine stuff I have heard is very overrated crap. I would have put good money on the Docherty idiot being dead by now. Maybe he is destined to be another Iggy Pop and the like, and defy the inevitable. Mind, he is looking a bit "porky" there, which is often the sign of a junkie coming off the stuff.
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Entourage meets...well,errr...Entourage. The song was OK right up until the ending when it got stupid right at the end. I did like how they managed to get Ronald McDonald into the shot, just before it went right back into that scene from every Entourage scene.

 

I rather enjoyed that rant :)

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What retard would wear a jacket in Thailand?

 

Rodger Moore did in.... 'The Man With The Golden Gun'......Yes I take your point.

 

I don't much like this song, or the two leading twats. If they were inspired by Kipling he'll be turning in his grave.

 

More likely Docherty overheard a Pakistani neighbour banging on his door and calling his wife down because he left his keys in the pub,

 

"Darling I gunga'din, gunga'din"

 

 

Here's the poem for anyone interested..........

 

 

You may talk o' gin and beer

When you're quartered safe out 'ere,

An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;

But when it comes to slaughter

You will do your work on water,

An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.

Now in Injia's sunny clime,

Where I used to spend my time

A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen,

Of all them black-faced crew

The finest man I knew

Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.

He was "Din! Din! Din!

You limping lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!

Hi! slippery hitherao!

Water, get it! Panee lao![1]

You squigy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din."

The uniform 'e wore

Was nothin' much before,

An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind,

For a piece o' twisty rag

An' a goatskin water-bag

Was all the field-equipment e' could find.

When the sweatin' troop-train lay

In a sidin' through the day,

Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl,

We shouted "Harry By!"[2]

Till our throats were bricky-dry,

Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all.

It was "Din! Din! Din!

You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been?

You put some juldee[3] in it

Or I'll marrow[4] you this minute

If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!

'E would dot an' carry one

Till the longest day was done

An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear.

If we charged or broke or cut,

You could bet your bloomin' nut,

'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear.

With 'is mussick[5] on 'is back,

'E would skip with our attack,

An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire,"

An' for all 'is dirty 'ide

'E was white, clear white, inside

When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire!

It was "Din! Din! Din!"

With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green.

When the cartridges ran out,

You could hear the front-files shout,

"Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"

I sha'n't forgit the night

When I dropped be'ind the fight

With a bullet where my belt plate should 'a' been.

I was chokin' mad with thirst,

An' the man that spied me first

Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.

'E lifted up my 'ead,

An' he plugged me where I bled,

An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water-green:

It was crawlin' and it stunk,

But of all the drinks I've drunk,

I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.

It was "Din! Din! Din!"

'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen;

'E's chawin' up the ground,

An' 'e's kickin' all around:

For Gawd's sake git the water, Gunga Din!

'E carried me away

To where a dooli lay,

An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean.

'E put me safe inside,

An' just before 'e died:

"I 'ope you liked your drink," sez Gunga Din.

So I'll meet 'im later on

At the place where 'e is gone—

Where it's always double drill and no canteen;

'E'll be squattin' on the coals,

Givin' drink to poor damned souls,

An' I'll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!

Yes, Din! Din! Din!

You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!

Though I've belted you and flayed you,

By the living Gawd that made you,

You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

 

 

 

Footnotes:

 

You can see from the rhyming 'din' should be pronounced as 'deen' The old joke works well either way.

 

Turns out The Libertines are big Kipling fans and have used him before.........But I wanted to work the old joke in.

Edited by atlas2
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You did so with the subtlety of a sledgehammer Mr Atlas Sir.

 

I'm a great fan of Kipling (insert cake joke here), having been tasked with learning "if" by heart and reading "Kim" as part of my English lit course, I have a soft spot for him. Given that the choice was "A passage to India" which, IMNHO was a load of fucking crap along with "Persuasion" by Jane "boring cunt" Austen , I think I made the right one. I got a degree out of it a few years later, anyway.

 

However, my favourite poem from his is as follows;

 

Take up the White Man's burden, In patience to abide,
To veil the threat of terror And check the show of pride;
By open speech and simple, An hundred times made plain
To seek another's profit, And work another's gain.

Take up the White Man's burden, The savage wars of peace—
Fill full the mouth of Famine And bid the sickness cease;
And when your goal is nearest The end for others sought,
Watch sloth and heathen Folly Bring all your hopes to nought.

Take up the White Man's burden, No tawdry rule of kings,
But toil of serf and sweeper, The tale of common things.
The ports ye shall not enter, The roads ye shall not tread,
Go mark[14] them with your living, And mark them with your dead.

Take up the White Man's burden And reap his old reward:
The blame of those ye better, The hate of those ye guard—
The cry of hosts ye humour (Ah, slowly!) toward the light:—
"Why brought he us from bondage, Our loved Egyptian night?"

Take up the White Man's burden, Ye dare not stoop to less—
Nor call too loud on Freedom To cloke your weariness;
By all ye cry or whisper, By all ye leave or do,
The silent, sullen peoples Shall weigh your gods and you.

Take up the White Man's burden, Have done with childish days—
The lightly proferred laurel, The easy, ungrudged praise.
Comes now, to search your manhood, through all the thankless years
Cold, edged with dear-bought wisdom, The judgment of your peers!

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An exceedingly good poem.

 

The preferred authors presented up to kids don't seem to have changed much......... My son 16 in Oz has just last term studied, To Kill a Mockingbird and The Crucible.

 

I agree about Austen.......Forcing 16 year old boys to plumb her depths puts many off.

 

But while I say preferred authors don't change much.......And Atticus Finch is still going strong ..... White man's Burden?........Nowadays?

 

I wonder if there's any place for Kipling anymore?

 

 

 

Hopefully they still get the dirty bits of Chaucer and Byron............I'd offer Flashman as an option to Austen or Elliot and watch the boy's scores soar.

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