Rookie Rhymes, By The Men Of The 1st And 2nd Provisional Training Regiments, Plattsburg, New York Part 4

Did you learn what it meant to be brave?

How your old back did ache when you got the bad breaks With the rifle that now has such charms, And I'll make a good bet that you'll never forget That exhausting old Manual of Arms.

THOSE "PATRIOTIC" SONGS

I

To put the pay in patriot Is the order of the day.

And some delight to sing of fight For royalties that pay.

The louder that the eagle screams The more the dollars shout, And, if you please, atrocities Like this are handed out:--

(Chorus)

I love you, dear America, I love the starry flag, We're proud to fight for you-oo-oo; We never boast or brag.

We always will remember you, We always will be true; Maryland, my Maryland! hurrah, boys, hurrah!

As we go marching on to victory.

II

That some are actuated By intentions of the best, Is surely clear, and so we fear To cla.s.s them with the rest.

And yet conceive some long-haired chap, Or sentimental miss, Who takes the time to fit a rhyme To music, say, like this:--

(Chorus)

I love you, yes, I love you, And when I'm across the sea, I'll take your picture to the front, 'Twill always be with me.

I shall not mind the bullets When I am far away, You'll be a soldier's sweetheart, My girl in U. S. A.

III

To make the war more horrible Some chap will surely try To set to rag the starry flag, And dance the battle cry.

We only hope we may be spared; It did not fail to come, A das.h.i.+ng trot of sh.e.l.l and shot, Of bugle call and drum.

(Chorus)

That khaki glide! O! that army slide, It seems to say: "March away, march away!"

I feel so queer each time I hear The music of that military band.

It's just too grand!

Fills me full of joy and pride, See them marching side by side, That's just the good old khaki glide!

[Ill.u.s.tration]

SAt.u.r.dAY P.M.

I

When you've had a shave and a shower, And have picked up all the news; When you've donned your Sunday Stetson And your s.h.i.+ny pair of shoes; When your work for the week is over, You think that you are through.

You're wrong, my son, you're wrong, my son There's something more for you.

It's the needle, the needle, The prophylactic needle.

There's a hungry surgeon waiting And he's waiting just for you.

II

Tho' you lasted through the horrors Of a test in skirmish drill, And proved yourself a captain When you bellowed "Fire at will!"

You are very much mistaken If you think you've finished then; There is something after luncheon For all the Plattsburg men.

It's the needle, the needle, etc.

III

Tho' you stood a strict inspection And your dirty gun got by; Tho' you'd grease spots on your breeches, And the Captain winked his eye; Tho' you ate your fill at dinner, And enjoyed a Lucky Strike; There is something at one-thirty That I know you will not like.

It's the needle, the needle, etc.

IV

Tho' you proved yourself a hero After three hours in the line, And when the doctor jabbed you Just said, "Let's have a s.h.i.+ne!"

And smoked a large-sized stogie And thought that it was fun, My n.o.ble-hearted candidate, You'd only half begun.

It's the needle, the needle, etc.

V

When you woke up at twelve-thirty In a state of some alarm, To feel a tortured muscle In the region of your arm; When you heard the groaning barracks, You wiped your brow and said: "Two million more next week-end, And I guess that I'll be dead."

The needle, the needle, The prophylactic needle.

You softly d.a.m.n the surgeon, And his needle tinged with red.

HOW THINGS HAVE CHANGED