While fightin' blight and blister, We hardly get a chance To read about our "comrades" A-doin' things in France. To raise the grub to feed 'em Is some job, believe me--plus! And I ain't so sure a soldier-- A shootin', scrappin' soldier, That's livin' close to dyin'-- Ain't got the best of us! But we'll harrer and we'll harvest, An' we'll meet this new demand Like the farmers always meet it-- The farmers--and the land. An' we hope, when it is over An' this war has gone to seed, You will know us soldiers better-- Th' sweatin', reapin' soldiers, Th' soldiers that have hustled To raise th' grub you need! It's a mighty fancy title you have given us, A name that sounds too fine to really stick; But maybe you'll forget (when you figure out your debt) To call th' man who works a farm a "hick." THE LADIES' MAN Billy is a ladies' man; Billy dances fine (Always was a bear-cat at the game); Billy pulls the social stuff all along the line-- But he knows this business, just the same. He can march; he can drill As hard as any rook; And he knows his manual Without his little book. Maybe he was soft at first--ev'rybody's that; Golfing was his hardest labor then; Now he's in the Service (where you don't grow fat), Digging, drilling, like us other men. He can eat, he can sleep Like any healthy brute-- And the Captain says that Billy-boy Is learning how to shoot! When he joined the Training Camp, Billy says, "No doubt, I will draw some clerical position;" But he's shown he can _command_; so--the news is out-- He will get a regular commission! He can talk; he can dance (He is still the ladies' pet) But the way he barks his orders out Gets _action_, you c'n bet! COOKIE JIM The capting says, says he to us: "Your duty is to do your best; We can't ALL lead in this here muss, So mind your job! That is the test O' soldierin', O' soldierin'-- To mind your job, while soldierin'!" When Jimmy joined the colors first, he knowed that soon he'd be A non-com. officer,--oh, sure, he had that idee firm; But Jimmy got another think, fer quite eventually They had him workin' like a Turk, th' pore, astonished worm. The rest of us, we gotta eat, and Jimmy--he can cook! (He makes a stew that tastes as good as mother used to make.) An' when he starts to flappin' cakes, why, every hungry rook Is droolin' at the mouth for them, a-waitin' fer his take. He's ranked a sergeant, but he don't mix up with no recruits; He rides a horse when we parade (which ain't so often now); But where he shines is when we eat; the grub that Jimmy shoots At hungry troopers every day is certainly "some chow."