With the Colors

st, 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."

He's jest a "dough-boy," of a sort; it's Jimmy's job to cook; Don't hafter drill, don't hafter tote a lot of arms with him; Jest messes up th' stuff we eat, and we don't hafter look-- It's _always_ clean! So here's a good luck and health to Cookie Jim!

The capting says, says he: "You rooks
Have gotta lot t