TOUJOURS LE MÊME
No matter how wise or how foolish
The company’s cook may be,
When down at the table we’re seated,
Two things we all plainly can see;
When we look at the chow
There’s the bosom of sow,
And beans—beans—beans.
If quartered in city or country,
The cook never misses his aim;
If messing in swamp or on mountain,
Two things will remain quite the same;
Though it may cause a row,
We get bosom of sow,
And beans—beans—beans.
When tasks for the day are all ended,
And weary are body and brain,
Small matter it makes if we’re eating
Indoors, or outside in the rain,
The cook makes his bow
With the bosom of sow,
And beans—beans—beans.
Of all that I’ve learned in the Army,
This fact I am sure I know well—
And others are certain to tell you—
The soldier’s worst picture of hell
Is thrice daily chow
With the bosom of sow,
And beans—beans—beans.
Vance C. Criss, Corp., Engrs.