The first day that I reported My heart was full of joy, And to all intents and purposes, I was a bully boy. A stunner in my native town, I thought I’d easily Upon my muscle go right through This big menagerie. But, ah! full soon that fatal day My crest began to fall, And my spirits came down mighty fast When I got to the Mess Hall. My folly and my sauciness, They soon took out of me, And made me sing a different tune, In this big menagerie. They put me up in the window, Attention made me stand. And I had to dance and sing and speak At everyone’s command. I tried to run, but soon found out That my rapidity Was not the kind of game to play, In this big menagerie. The first time that I went on guard, The night was dark as pitch, They took my gun and then yanked me Right in Fort Clinton’s ditch. The Corporal I called aloud, But not a step came he, And then I learned another dodge In this big menagerie. But after all I’d been through, They said I was not tame, And that they would complete the cure, By giving me another name. They called me for some gay old cuss, Who’d been dead a century, And now I’m known as De la Rive, In this big menagerie. All day I police, scrub and drill, Till my troubles make me weep, And when the day, is over, I’m denied the boon of sleep, But all the night lie trembling, From Taps to Reveille, For fear I really will be yanked In this big menagerie. My frolics, joys and amusements, Are all knocked into smash, And pleasures all concentrated are In eating Mess Hall hash. And should I meet a lady fair, I dare not speak to she, That would be too fast for a Plebe, In this big menagerie. They call me beast and vile reptile, And goodness only knows, I’d rather be a kangaroo, In one of those circus shows, For all the real animals Are happier far than we, For they don’t have any squad drill In their menagerie. The lions, tigers, bears and wolves Can never feel our woes, For whoever heard of an elephant Depressing his great toes. And even the little monkeys Are happy, gay and free, And carry their hands just as they please In their menagerie. But soon this camp will end, and then My troubles will be o’er, I’ll drop the beast from off my name, And sing this song no more. But where’er I roam in years to come, On land or on the sea, I’ll ne’er forget my sufferings In this big menagerie. A PLEBE’S LAMENTATION. Oh, Lord, will I never get done A rubbing on this rusty gun. Chorus— I wish I was at home, I wish I was there, too. It makes me sigh, it makes me fret, To clean this rusty bayonet.