Discipline! My! “Eyes right!” they cried,
As we passed the drill hall door,
And left it at that—so we marched cock-eyed
From three to half-past four.
And solid! Why, after a real wet bout
In a hole in the Flanders mud,
It would puzzle the Boche to fetch us out,
For we couldn't get out if we would!
Some think we could have stood war's test,