While you’re standing at attention,
Cooties dart and duck below,
Then your lousy Captain bawls you out,
Ain’t it Hell? – Well I’ll say so!

Ever have that itchy army,
Doing squads both right and left,
On your tired and aching shoulders,
Or underneath your vest?

Or in your helmet-sweated hair,
Or on your pain-racked shins?
Way the little devils pinch and bite,
Makes you feel you’ve paid your sins.

In the “lines” big Generals had ‘em,
Every Captain raised his share,
But there was plenty hell a-poppin’,
If a “Buck” had one to spare.

You can have my flock of grey ones,
For I sure have had my fill;
And if Napoleon raised ‘em all,
He’s the bird I’d like to kill.

From the “History and Rhymes of the Lost Battalion” by “Buck Private” L.C. McCollum, 1919