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Title: The Raw Recruit
Author: W. E. Christian [
More Titles by Christian]
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!
[The end]
W. E. Christian's poem: Raw Recruit
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