We sympathise with your great woe,
Bechuana.
There's little rest for Chiefs below,
Bechuana.
In sultry climes, in climes of snow,
The drink will come, the land will go,
Bechuana.
The ways of Trade were ever so,
Bechuana!
The Chartered Company seems growing,
Bechuana.
The liquor interest is crowing,
Bechuana.
Bung is blowing, drink is flowing,
RHODES like one o'clock is going,
Bechuana.
Where they will stop there is no knowing,
Bechuana!
In black kingdoms, as in white,
Bechuana,
Men are given to getting "tight,"
Bechuana.
KHAMA, it is a grievous sight.
And you, you seem to have done right,
Bechuana,
Since you your troth to us did plight,
Bechuana!
Sober, industrious, fond of peace,
Bechuana,
You've kept your tribe. May it increase,
Bechuana.
If, you would have the traffic cease,
Why should your heart not have that ease,
Bechuana?
Sobriety is the best police,
Bechuana!
It _is_ a vile, corroding curse,
Bechuana.
We do not wish, quite the reverse,
Bechuana,
That, just to fill a huckster-purse,
Your tribe should go from bad to worse,
Bechuana.
Twere a foul shame! That's true and terse,
Bechuana!
Let Gain go hang, let Bung be blowed,
Bechuana,
Rather than drunkenness corrode,
Bechuana,
The realm whereby Molopo flowed.
To KHAMA Britons much have owed,
Bechuana;
The boon you crave should be bestowed,
Bechuana.
* * * * *