You doughboys, you slow boys,
Here’s luck, an’ let her go, boys—
We like you, Infantry.
Now us in the Artillery don’t live no life of ease
Nor yet particular security,
For the present that Fritz sends us one can’t dodge behind the trees,
Unless trees was much thicker than they be.
But we know our lot is doughnuts, Orders Home, and Gay Paree
To what you march to singin’, Hundred Second Infantry.
Oh, there’s numerous blanks in your company ranks,