Rhymes of the Rookies | Page 2

girls they'll get,?And some, about the beer;?Some say they'll send their money home,?And all begin to cheer.?The games will soon be goin'?Snap your fingers at the dice;?With the canteen spigots flowin'?'Til the Barkeep's out of ice.
For it's pay-day, pay-day, pay-day;?Can't you hear the bugles call??The privates and the Non-Coms,?The officers and all?Have been waitin', waitin', waiting?'Til they're broke or badly bent?For the coins stacked up on blankets?And table in a tent.
Fifteen dollars in the mornin'?By the evenin' in the hole;?And "Private Jones is absent, Sir."?When the Sergeant calls the roll.?The officers are lookin' up?The "Articles of War";?There's sixteen in the guard-house,?And the Provost has some more.
THE ARMY GROUCH
When the Grouch gets up at reveille,?He puts his elbow on his knee;?His head upon his hand;?And tho' he's slept ten hours or more,?His back is weak, his feet are sore,?And he can hardly stand.?And, as he goes to get his chow,?He says, "By Gosh!--I don't see how?A soldier lives so long.?The spuds is rotten and the slum?Is always worse than on the bum.?The coffee is too strong.?That cow was killed ten years before?They organized this bloomin' war;?These flapjacks taste like wood."?And so he growls through all the day,?And fills his comrades with dismay;?They'd kill him if they could.?When "First Call" wakes up Billy Lott,?He sits upon his Army cot,?And whistles "Casey Jones,"?And as he jumps into his shoes,?He says, "By Jinks I've had a snooze?That's good for skin and bones."?And Billy always has a smile?That you can see for half a mile,?And when he stops to say, 'How Do!'?He chases dimples to your cheeks?That stay there for a couple of weeks,?And he makes you happy too.
WEANING TIME
(To A. W. D.)
Mothers, O, ye mothers of the land!?With broods of sisters, brothers--hand in hand--?'Tis weaning time. Clip ye the thread?That apron-strings the lad! Give him his head!?Pluck from your teat the clinging lip?That should be tight with valor's grip!?"You were my child-in-arms," she said;?"Suckled I you, and gave you bed;?But now you are my man, my son.?For battle lost or battle won,?Go, find your captain; take your gun,?To stand with France against the Hun!?Reck not that tears might wet your crib;?Nor fear my fondling of the bib?You wore--when you are gone.?Your mother will not be alone;?Her love-mate will be Duty Done:?Her nights will kiss that midnight sun.?If tears? They will be tears of Joy,?For having milked a man, my boy.?Farewell and live, heart of my heart.?God steel my soul! I bid you start!?He goes!?God knows?I idol him. And may no backward glance?Unheart me now. To France! To France!?Fair France of La Fayette's romance.?My man-in-arms advance, advance!?Take down your grand-sire's crimsoned lance!?For man-wide Freedom and for France!"
"HANDS ACROSS THE SEA"
We're off for France to make "Fritz" dance?To the tune of shot and shell.?We'll march right in to old Berlin,?And give the Kaiser hell.
The French are right--they'll hold the fight,?And British "drives" are fine;?But Pershing's boys will find but toys?In the "Hindenberger" Line.
We leave hearts dear--the coast we clear?For the ocean's wide expanse.?A submarine on the ocean seen?Will have but little chance.
The cause is just--yet more we trust--?For the Honor debt we owe?Can ne'er be paid. 'Twas the timely aid?Of the Frenchman long ago.
For Lafayette is with us yet,?Still held in memory dear.?Our hearts now burn to give return,?While his name we all revere.
Oh! we're off to France--we want a chance?At the ecstatic thrill?Of being there to have a share?In the funeral of "Kaiser Bill."
THE HIKE
The orders are, "Prepare to hike!"?So pack your war bag. Hit the pike.?Throw back your shoulders--keep the step,?For this is where we get the pep.
"Prepare to hike," the orders are.?And don't you dare to ask how far.?We'll get what's coming, don't you see??So what's the odds to you and me?
Prepare to hike! Roll up your kit.?Strap on equipment. Hit the Grit?Your corns will ripen on the road,--?Just pare them down when taps are "blowed."
We're billed to hike--the bugles blow.?"'Tis column right" and off you go.?Civilians watch as we pass by--?We watch the girlies wink the eye.
Prepardness is the slogan now,?And rumor says there'll be a row--?A real one on the Western Front.?We're drilling for this special stunt.
Prepare to hike! Get in the game.?Your feet get sore, but don't go lame,?Just set your jaws, with stiffened lip,?And hold the lines with sand and "zip."
War may be "Hell." So let it be.?Yet, must be fought, if liberty?Is still to reign upon her throne,--?Else all is lost. The best is gone.
Prepare to hike! Once more I say.?Round out your muscles for the fray.?Life's not worth living any more,?Should Teuton force invade our shore.
A-B-C-OF ARMY LIFE
A is the ARMY,?With its shot, and its shell,?B is the BATTLE?That makes the War, Hell.?C is the CAVALRY,?Dashing and Bold,?D is the "DOUGHBOY,"?Whom the trenches must hold;?E, ENGINEER,?Who lays out the plot,?F the "FIRST AID,"?With stretcher and cot;?G is