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you all to pieces.

Sick of it?
Sick of the feel of khaki,
Sick of the gun
Sick of the sight of squads left and squads right
We're never done.
Sick of the whole bloomin' army --
generals down,
Want to walk with my thumbs in my vest
Back home in town.
- - - - - - - - -
Want to get back to the girlie
Kiss her again,
Hang up my hat in a neat little flat --
She can say when
Sick of the smell of billets,
Sick of the chow.
Want to quit France, and put on long pants --
Want to go now.
- - - - - - - - - - -
What's that? Mail? I got two letters!
Gimme 'em quick!
From Mother and Dad; "If your living we're
glad."
Tell me to stick!
Another one, yes -- from girlie!
What's it about?
"Its tough about war, and your worth waiting for!"
Guess I'll snap out.