OUR OFFICERS

  I’m goin’ to be discharged, sir;
  My time is near its close,
  I want to tell you, cap’en,
  You’re the best the country grows. 
  They ain’t no man in all the world
  Can beat the army man,
  That wears the shiny leggins and
  That does the best he can.

    I’ve seen them, sir, in battle
    With the bullets flyin’ round,
    I’ve seen them lying wounded
    With the blood-stains on the ground. 
    I’ve watched them when the fever
    Was a-ragin’ in the camp,
    I’ve seen them nurse the cholera—­
    A-wrestling with the cramp.

  I’ve seen them pin to that ol’ flag
  Another glory more,
  That made the stripes look brighter
  Than they ever did before. 
  They weren’t winning V.C.’s, either,
  But because the country said
  For them to go, they went. 
  They done it or they’re dead.

    We’ve lots of men of this kind an’
    Of course, we’ve some that ain’t,
    We’ll cover up their faces
    In the picture that we paint. 
    I’ll follow men like you, sir;
    You can’t go too fast an’ far,
    You’re officers and gentlemen
    Like Congress says you are.

  I wish I could re-up, sir,
  Till you get your silver stars,
  I’m sure you’ll do them credit, sir,
  As you have done the bars. 
  I know I shouldn’t talk so much,
  But somehow I’m inclined,
  On leavin’ the old outfit
  Just to speak the company’s mind.

PAY DAY

  Oh, it’s early in the morning,
  The mules begin to squeal,
  You hear the cooks a’bangin’ pans
  To get the mornin’ meal;
  The Bugler, sort o’ toodlin,
  Outside the Colonel’s tent,
  And you kind o’ feel downhearted,
  ’Cause your last two bits is spent.

  With a leggin-string you’re fussin’
  When the band begins to play,
  And you listen, and stop cussin’,—­
  What is that the bugles say? 
  Oh, it’s pay-day, pay-day, pay-day,
  And the drums begin to roll,
  And they sure do carry music
  To the busted Johnnie’s soul.

  Some think about the girls they’ll get,
  And some, about the beer;
  Some say they’ll send their money home,
  And all begin to cheer. 
  The games will soon be goin’
  Snap your fingers at the dice;
  With the canteen spigots flowin’
  ’Til the Barkeep’s out of ice.

  For it’s pay-day, pay-day, pay-day;
  Can’t you hear the bugles call? 
  The privates and the Non-Coms,
  The officers and all
  Have been waitin’, waitin’, waiting
  ’Til they’re broke or badly bent
  For the coins stacked up on blankets
  And table in a tent.

  Fifteen dollars in the mornin’
  By the evenin’ in the hole;
  And “Private Jones is absent, Sir.” 
  When the Sergeant calls the roll. 
  The officers are lookin’ up
  The “Articles of War”;
  There’s sixteen in the guard-house,
  And the Provost has some more.