Have gone away, and ah! it stirs
And quickens all our blood
To know their trainers say of them:
"The lads are making good."
And quickens all our blood
To know their trainers say of them:
"The lads are making good."
The boys who laughed and loafed and smoked
And danced the jazz-time rag
Are serving Uncle Sam today
As soldiers of the flag.
The "shrieking" shirt's a khaki blouse,
The sox of riot hue
Are woolen gray, and lose themselves
In wide-toed army shoe.
And danced the jazz-time rag
Are serving Uncle Sam today
As soldiers of the flag.
The "shrieking" shirt's a khaki blouse,
The sox of riot hue
Are woolen gray, and lose themselves
In wide-toed army shoe.
The heads are up, the shoulders square;
They walk with martial swing—
You had not dreamed a "Willy-boy"
Could bloom to such a thing.
The one-time pasty skins are seared
With coat of ocre tan;
Hats off! and see a "jelly-bean"
Evolve into a man!
They walk with martial swing—
You had not dreamed a "Willy-boy"
Could bloom to such a thing.
The one-time pasty skins are seared
With coat of ocre tan;
Hats off! and see a "jelly-bean"
Evolve into a man!
And when the war is done and they
Come marching home to us,
You wager both your blooming eyes
We're going to make a fuss,
And shout until our throats are hoarse
For every transformed lad
Who went away in screaming clothes
And comes back khaki clad!
Come marching home to us,
You wager both your blooming eyes
We're going to make a fuss,
And shout until our throats are hoarse
For every transformed lad
Who went away in screaming clothes
And comes back khaki clad!
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