And then when the fire-flies flittering roam, We sit close together out there in the gloam, And talk about things appertaining to home, I and my bunkie. If the slow tropic fever is a-shaking my spine, And they blow "boots and saddles" to chase the brown swine, He'll give me a leg-up and ride me in line, Will my bunkie. And if I get hit--his arm goes around, And raises me tenderly off of the ground, And the words on his lips are a comforting sound, The words of my bunkie. 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.