And pass the bull about.
Hit the floor for bunk, six hommes to one homme’s place;
It’s no fair to the bottom layer to kick ’em in the face.
Move the corp’ral’s feet out of my left ear;
Lay off, sarge, you are much too large, I’m not a bedsack, dear.
Lift my head up, please,
From this bag of bread;
Put it on somebody’s chest,
Then I’ll sleep like the dead.
Roll, roll, roll, yammer and snore and fight,