Perchin’ on his shoulder straps,
Poked his head right in th’ winder,
An’ he talks right out an’ snaps,
“Who’s th’ officer commandin’
Over this detachment here?”
An’ th’ looey he salutes him,
While us rest wuz feelin’ queer.
“I am, sir,” th’ looey tells him,
Wonderin’ what th’ row’s about.
“Pershing’s comin’ in five minits,”