At Mess

‘Twas our first day out at the camp,

     And we were a-humpin’ like fun;

The sergeant was sore

‘Cause we didn’t do more

     An’ itched for the feel of his gun.

It was putting up tents and a shack

     “Headquarters” sounded better, you know;

An’ the sweat that we spilled

Would easy have filled

     The crick that was dry just below.

‘Twas noon, an’ our belts hung loose,

     We longed for the bugle to “mess”;

The cook he was green,

But we made for the scene

     Beatin’ “double time” marchin’, I guess.

We lined up in style for the stew,

     Too hungry to be real polite;

We had just got a smell

When McSweeny says, “hell!

     This stew is a mess all right!”

July 13, 1917