The Grind                                                                                                   
from: Songs of the Training Camps  (Officer Training School)


Oh, you grumble and yawn as you wake up at dawn
Or maybe an hour or two prior,
And you jump out kerplunk from your nice cozy bunk
To a floor that is far from the fire;
Then there's mess and "police" and your labors increase
When the bugle is sounded for drilling,
Which is needful, all right, if you'd learn how to fight
Though it isn't especially thrilling.

But you simply must go through it,
There's the job--you've got to do it
Though there seems an awful gob of it to cram;
If you want to be an officer,
Agood, efficient officer,
A credit to your Uncle Sam!

Then there's bayonet drill, where you learn how to kill
In a manner uncouth but conclusive,
After which you must scoot to the range, where you shoot
At a target that's highly elusive;
Then the classes you hie where you buck "S.P.I."
And the "I.D.R." adds  to your worry,
Even noon call for mess scarcely lightens the stress,
For you've got to get through in a hurry.

But the training schools demand it,
And you'll simply have to stand it,
And go trotting to the slaugther like a lamb;
If you want to be an officer,
A first-class A 1. officer,
A credit to your Uncle Sam.

In the trenches you grub and the Suicide Club
Needs a lot of your strictest attention,
And there's duty to do with the wigwagging crew
And the hikes, which are painful to mention;
And at night there is school, which you find, as a rule,
Is productive of labor and sorrow,
Then you loaf till it's taps--that's a half hour, perhaps--
And there's nothing to do till to-morrow.

But although you growl and grumble
You will do your duty humble
With the patience of an oyster or a clam,
If you want to be an officer,
A real, upstanding officer,
A credit to your Uncle Sam!



Published in: The Popular Magazine - March 20, 1918




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