THE DRIVER
I’m a slouch and a slop and a sluffer,And my ears they are covered with hair,And I frequent inhabit the guardhouse,I’ll be “priv” until “fini la guerre.”But my off horse, she shines like a countess,And my nigh made the general blink,And they pull like twin bats fresh from Hades,And they’re quick as a demimonde’s wink.Oh, it’s often I’m late at formations,And it’s taps I completely disdain.And my bunk, it brings tears from the captain,And the cooties are at me again.But when there’s a piece in the mire,With her muzzle just rimming the muck,Then it’s hustle for me and my beauties—If they don’t they are S.O. of luck.And when there’s some route that’s receivingIts tender regards from the Huns,Then we gallop hell bent for electionTo our duty o’ feeding the guns.The gas, the H.E., and the shrapnel,They brighten our path as they burst,But they’ve never got me or my chevals—They’ll have to catch up to us first.I’m a slouch and a slop and a sluffer,And my ears they are covered with hair,And I frequent inhabit the guardhouse,I’ll be “priv” until “fini la guerre.”But my hosses, they neigh when I’m comin’,An’ my sarge knows how hefty they drag,An’ the cap lent me ten francs this mornin’—Here’s to him an’ to me an’ the flag!F. M. H. D., F.A.
I’m a slouch and a slop and a sluffer,And my ears they are covered with hair,And I frequent inhabit the guardhouse,I’ll be “priv” until “fini la guerre.”But my off horse, she shines like a countess,And my nigh made the general blink,And they pull like twin bats fresh from Hades,And they’re quick as a demimonde’s wink.Oh, it’s often I’m late at formations,And it’s taps I completely disdain.And my bunk, it brings tears from the captain,And the cooties are at me again.But when there’s a piece in the mire,With her muzzle just rimming the muck,Then it’s hustle for me and my beauties—If they don’t they are S.O. of luck.And when there’s some route that’s receivingIts tender regards from the Huns,Then we gallop hell bent for electionTo our duty o’ feeding the guns.The gas, the H.E., and the shrapnel,They brighten our path as they burst,But they’ve never got me or my chevals—They’ll have to catch up to us first.I’m a slouch and a slop and a sluffer,And my ears they are covered with hair,And I frequent inhabit the guardhouse,I’ll be “priv” until “fini la guerre.”But my hosses, they neigh when I’m comin’,An’ my sarge knows how hefty they drag,An’ the cap lent me ten francs this mornin’—Here’s to him an’ to me an’ the flag!F. M. H. D., F.A.
I’m a slouch and a slop and a sluffer,And my ears they are covered with hair,And I frequent inhabit the guardhouse,I’ll be “priv” until “fini la guerre.”But my off horse, she shines like a countess,And my nigh made the general blink,And they pull like twin bats fresh from Hades,And they’re quick as a demimonde’s wink.
I’m a slouch and a slop and a sluffer,
And my ears they are covered with hair,
And I frequent inhabit the guardhouse,
I’ll be “priv” until “fini la guerre.”
But my off horse, she shines like a countess,
And my nigh made the general blink,
And they pull like twin bats fresh from Hades,
And they’re quick as a demimonde’s wink.
Oh, it’s often I’m late at formations,And it’s taps I completely disdain.And my bunk, it brings tears from the captain,And the cooties are at me again.But when there’s a piece in the mire,With her muzzle just rimming the muck,Then it’s hustle for me and my beauties—If they don’t they are S.O. of luck.
Oh, it’s often I’m late at formations,
And it’s taps I completely disdain.
And my bunk, it brings tears from the captain,
And the cooties are at me again.
But when there’s a piece in the mire,
With her muzzle just rimming the muck,
Then it’s hustle for me and my beauties—
If they don’t they are S.O. of luck.
And when there’s some route that’s receivingIts tender regards from the Huns,Then we gallop hell bent for electionTo our duty o’ feeding the guns.The gas, the H.E., and the shrapnel,They brighten our path as they burst,But they’ve never got me or my chevals—They’ll have to catch up to us first.
And when there’s some route that’s receiving
Its tender regards from the Huns,
Then we gallop hell bent for election
To our duty o’ feeding the guns.
The gas, the H.E., and the shrapnel,
They brighten our path as they burst,
But they’ve never got me or my chevals—
They’ll have to catch up to us first.
I’m a slouch and a slop and a sluffer,And my ears they are covered with hair,And I frequent inhabit the guardhouse,I’ll be “priv” until “fini la guerre.”But my hosses, they neigh when I’m comin’,An’ my sarge knows how hefty they drag,An’ the cap lent me ten francs this mornin’—Here’s to him an’ to me an’ the flag!F. M. H. D., F.A.
I’m a slouch and a slop and a sluffer,
And my ears they are covered with hair,
And I frequent inhabit the guardhouse,
I’ll be “priv” until “fini la guerre.”
But my hosses, they neigh when I’m comin’,
An’ my sarge knows how hefty they drag,
An’ the cap lent me ten francs this mornin’—
Here’s to him an’ to me an’ the flag!
F. M. H. D., F.A.