- A Training Camp Ballad (with apologies to Bill Leonard) from: Songs Of The Training Camps (Officers Training School)
Oh, Kitchen Police is the duty that creases
A lot of new lines in your brow,
It keeps a guy hustling when detailed for rustling,
The daily allowance of chow;
The murphies I'm peeling have set my mind reeling,
I've done seven billion and three,
When I get away from this job I'll be gray from K.P.
But there's no escaping from scrubbing and scraping,
The pans and the pots and the plates,
And bringing in fuel and ladling out gruel,
And paring the onions by crates;
My nerves are all shaken from smelling the bacon,
The coffee, the beans, and the tea,
My hunger's departed; who was it that started K.P.?
I thought I'd be fighting the Germans, and righting
The wrongs that the papers portrayed,
And here I am wearing an apron, and bearing
The task of a scullery maid;
Why, drilling is easy compared to the greasy,
Hard labor they've handed to me,
This cleaning of fishes and juggling of dishes, K.P.!
Say, when by a drive at the Bosche, we arrive at
The widely known town of Berlin,
And cheerfully--rather!--we reach out and gather
the kaiser and Hindenburg in,
I've got a suggestion to settle the question
Of what we shall do with 'em; Gee!
I'd thrill to be viewing the pais of them doing, K.P.!