The Spike: or, Victoria College Review Capping Carnival 1920

The Joys of a Soldier

The Joys of a Soldier

1.
A glorious life is the army;
We've nothing to do all the day
But draw from the quarter our rations,
And spend at the canteen our pay.
And such pretty medals they pin on your chest,
And they blow the reveille when we want to rest.

Day after day, week after week, month after month, and year after year,
They feed us up fatly and send us to fight
For King and for Country and Right against Might;
And Trentham camp is the place
Where they drill us all the day long:
Form fours to the right,
Then move to the left,
Day after day, week after week, month after month, and year after year.

2.
The Colonel inspects us each morning,
His temper of pepper is made,
And so all our faces are shaven
Before he appears on parade.
He travels along from the left to the right,
Our buttons and badges are shiny and bright.

Day after day, week after week, month after month, and year after year,
The same old brasso on buttons we rub,
The same old radium polish and scrub,
The same old bully beef stew,
The same old hard biscuits eat:
A life, you would think,
That'd drive one to drink,
Day after day, week after week, month after month, and year after year.

3.
The boss of the show is Jim Allen,
And he's not at all a bad chap,
But to the wowsers he's fallen;
For our thirst they don't care a rap,
And now all the pubs they are closing at six
If you shout for a cobber you're well in a fix.

Day after day, week after week, month after month, and year after year,
We march and we drill while we're learning to fight.
We're working all day, but we're dreaming all night
Of the days before the war
Or apres la guerre finie,
When pubs close at ten
And to drink we'll be free,
We'll have ale after ale, stout after stout, rum after rum, and beer after beer.

4.
Now Holland is chief of the workers
He talks about ruling the land,
With Socialist slackers and shirkers
He's head of a Bolshevik band;
The cost of living still rising apace,
While profits and wages are having a race.

Day after day, week after week, month after month, and year after year.
We read all the leaders they put in the "Post."
Of facts and of figures they quote us a host;
But still we hear Harry say
The social system is wrong:
The workers should rule
And the landlords should work,
Day after day, week after week, month after month, and year after year.