BEEFING
It seems I’m never satisfiedNo matter where I go.My job’s a cinch, my duties soft,I still find grief and woe.If I’m stationed in a training campWhere drills are very light,I holler to be sent up frontTo get into the fight.When we were in the U. S. A.,I thought we had no chance,And I wasn’t really satisfiedTill on my way to France.We’ve been here now about six months,And if I had kept track,I’ll bet I’ve said, a thousand times,“I wish that I was back.”And when I was a corporalI belly-ached aroundAnd thought a better sergeantThan I’d make could not be found.I’ve had three stripes for eight long months,And still I curse my luck,And threaten that I’ll tear ’em offAnd go back to a buck.For when they try to please meAnd dish out first class chow,And there’s sugar in the coffee,I’ll holler anyhow.And if I was sent to HeavenAnd up there was doing well,I wouldn’t, yet, be satisfiedTill I’d got a look at hell!H. H. Huss, Sgt., Inf.
It seems I’m never satisfiedNo matter where I go.My job’s a cinch, my duties soft,I still find grief and woe.If I’m stationed in a training campWhere drills are very light,I holler to be sent up frontTo get into the fight.When we were in the U. S. A.,I thought we had no chance,And I wasn’t really satisfiedTill on my way to France.We’ve been here now about six months,And if I had kept track,I’ll bet I’ve said, a thousand times,“I wish that I was back.”And when I was a corporalI belly-ached aroundAnd thought a better sergeantThan I’d make could not be found.I’ve had three stripes for eight long months,And still I curse my luck,And threaten that I’ll tear ’em offAnd go back to a buck.For when they try to please meAnd dish out first class chow,And there’s sugar in the coffee,I’ll holler anyhow.And if I was sent to HeavenAnd up there was doing well,I wouldn’t, yet, be satisfiedTill I’d got a look at hell!H. H. Huss, Sgt., Inf.
It seems I’m never satisfiedNo matter where I go.My job’s a cinch, my duties soft,I still find grief and woe.If I’m stationed in a training campWhere drills are very light,I holler to be sent up frontTo get into the fight.
It seems I’m never satisfied
No matter where I go.
My job’s a cinch, my duties soft,
I still find grief and woe.
If I’m stationed in a training camp
Where drills are very light,
I holler to be sent up front
To get into the fight.
When we were in the U. S. A.,I thought we had no chance,And I wasn’t really satisfiedTill on my way to France.We’ve been here now about six months,And if I had kept track,I’ll bet I’ve said, a thousand times,“I wish that I was back.”
When we were in the U. S. A.,
I thought we had no chance,
And I wasn’t really satisfied
Till on my way to France.
We’ve been here now about six months,
And if I had kept track,
I’ll bet I’ve said, a thousand times,
“I wish that I was back.”
And when I was a corporalI belly-ached aroundAnd thought a better sergeantThan I’d make could not be found.I’ve had three stripes for eight long months,And still I curse my luck,And threaten that I’ll tear ’em offAnd go back to a buck.
And when I was a corporal
I belly-ached around
And thought a better sergeant
Than I’d make could not be found.
I’ve had three stripes for eight long months,
And still I curse my luck,
And threaten that I’ll tear ’em off
And go back to a buck.
For when they try to please meAnd dish out first class chow,And there’s sugar in the coffee,I’ll holler anyhow.And if I was sent to HeavenAnd up there was doing well,I wouldn’t, yet, be satisfiedTill I’d got a look at hell!H. H. Huss, Sgt., Inf.
For when they try to please me
And dish out first class chow,
And there’s sugar in the coffee,
I’ll holler anyhow.
And if I was sent to Heaven
And up there was doing well,
I wouldn’t, yet, be satisfied
Till I’d got a look at hell!
H. H. Huss, Sgt., Inf.