They told me that the Army was a joy for evermore;
They told me of the pleasures I'd have in it by the score;
They told me of its comforts and the jolly life I'd lead,
But by thunder they have fooled me and I'm sorrowful indeed—
I ever joined the Army.
They told me of the polished boots and the buttons bright I'd wear,
And of the splendid things I'd find upon the bill-of-fare;
But never a word they told me in the fine recruiting shop,
Of hoeing weeds upon the roads, or hauling out the slops—
When I joined the Army.
They told me of the pleasant hours, away from every care,
I could spend when not on duty, in town or anywhere;
But a thing they never told me is the punishment they'd mete
Out to a luckless rookie who went absent from retreat—
In Uncle Samuel's Army.
They told me of the canteen, where good lager beer is sold,
And of the fine post hospital, that cures all kinds of colds;
But a hint about the guard-house they never to me gave,
That skeleton they kept hidden as though buried in a grave—
Until I joined the Army.
They showed me good looking chromos of good looking soldier men,
With little V's upon their sleeves and hats they shone like tin;
But there is one uncanny picture they never to me showed
Of a soldier with a knapsack, and he hitting up the road—
In the U. S. Army.
They told me of the nice soft bunk, made out of woven wire,
Where I could lay my carcass, whenever my bones would tire;
But a whisper of the pick and shovel was never to me told,
So I'm pondering o'er my contract, and I think I was sold—
When I came into Uncle's Army.
They told me of the non-coms, who knew a soldier's worth,
Who made the Army jolly, a place of endless mirth;
But not a word they told me of the amount of beer I'd buy,
Just to keep a "stand in" with those that rank up high—
In Sammy's splendid Army.
They told me of the bill-of-fare that changed with every day,
And when landed in the Army for thirty years I'd stay;
But not a word they told me (No wonder they were mum),
About the stuff they feed us, commonly known as "Slum"—
In our conquering Army.
It is hinted that experience of all others is the school,
Where common sense alone is learned, by him that plays the fool;
And though I hate the medicine, I must take it with a will,
And keep convincing myself, it does me good—
It's time to leave the Army.