THE RAW RECRUIT

  Ses Corporal Madden to Private McFadden: 
    Be gob, ye’re a bad ’un;
    Now turn out your toes;
    Yer belt is unhookit
    Yer cap is on crookit
    Ye may not be dhrunk,
    But be jabers, ye look it;
      Wan-two!  Wan-two! 
  Ye monkey faced devil, I’ll jolly ye through! 
      Wan-two!  Time!  Mark! 
  Ye march like the aigle in Cintheral Park.

  Ses Corporal Madden to Private McFadden: 
    A saint it ud sadden
    To dhrill such a mug;
    Eyes front! ye baboon ye! 
    Chin up! ye gossoon, ye! 
    Ye’ve jaws like a goat—­
    Halt! ye leather lipped loon, ye! 
      Wan-two!  Wan-two! 
  Ye whiskered orang-outang, I’ll fix you! 
      Wan-two!  Time!  Mark! 
  Ye’ve eyes like a bat, can ye see in the dark?

  Ses Corporal Madden to Private McFadden: 
    Yer figger wants padd’n—­
    Sure man, ye’ve no shape;
    Behind ye yer shoulders
    Stick out like two boulders;
    Yer shins are as thin
    As a pair of penholders;
      Wan-two!  Wan-two! 
  Yer belly belongs on yer back, ye Jew! 
      Wan-two!  Time!  Mark! 
  I’m as dry as a dog—­I can’t spake but I bark!

SERVING IN TEXAS

  To old Satan Texas was given
    By the Lord who lives in Heaven,
  And the Devil quoth “I’ve got what’s needed
    To make a good Hell,” and he succeeded. 
  He put sharp thorns all over the trees,
    And mixed up sand with millions of fleas;
  He scattered tarantulas along the roads,
    Puts thorns on cactus, and horns on toads. 
  He lengthened the horns of the Texas steers,
    And put an addition to the rabbit’s ears;
  He put a little devil in the bronco steed,
    And poisoned the feet of the centipede. 
  The rattlesnake bites, the scorpion stings,
    The mosquitos delight with their, buzzing wings;
  The sand burs prevail, and so do the ants,
    And those who sit down, need half-soles in their pants. 
  The heat in the summer is one hundred and ten,
    Too hot for the Devil and too hot for the men;
  The wild boar roams thru the back chaparral,
    ’Tis a hell of a place that he picked for a hell.

O’REILLY’S GONE TO HELL

  O’Reilly was a soldier man, the pride of Battery “B.” 
  In all the blooming regiment no better man than he;
  The ranking duty Non Com., he knew his business well,
  But since he’s tumbled down the pole, O’Reilly’s gone to Hell.

  Chorus: 

  O’Reilly’s gone to Hell, since down the pole he fell. 
  They drank up all the bug juice the whiskey man would sell. 
  They ran him in the mill.  They’ve got him in there still. 
  His bob tail’s coming back by mail, O’Reilly’s gone to Hell.