SATURDAY 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 shiny 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