An' the derrick dumped her cargo on the shore;
In a pyramid they piled it—and her manifest they filed it,
In a pigeon-hole with half a hundred more.
The transport Gen'ral Ferguson, she travels up and down,
A-haulin' rookies to and from the war;
Outward-bound they sweat in Kharki; homeward bound they come in lead
And they wonder what they've got to do it for.
The transport Gen'ral Ferguson, she's owned by Uncle Sam,
An' maybe Uncle Sam could tell 'em why,
But he don't—and so he takes 'em out to fight, and sweat, and swear,