Sunday, December 30, 2007

Sympathetic Modern Poetry

This has been doing the rounds in military circles. You may be (my ego tells me) a wider audience:

Just sat here lurking around and thought of a few lines to update the immortal poem:

I went into a gastro pub to get meself a meal,
This pay as you dine you see it ain’t no real good deal.
The quality is pretty pish, and quantities are dire,
Whoever got rid of t’Catering Corps, has left us in the mire:

O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy is well paid";
But nobodies getting shot at Westminster, they’re just getting laid-
There ain’t no band begins to play, my boys, which means we have less medics,
And boys get harmed in Snatches and still there are few credits.

I were sent into a war as lairy as could be,
Wi’ no proper role or kit, and nobody backing me;
They sent me to Afghanistan or into South Iraq,
But there weren’t ever near enough of us, to get ‘em back on track!!

For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy get on wi’ it";
But there’s "No more money in the pot," when the fan is hit by s***-
The fan is hit by s***, my boys, the fan is hit by s***,
It's "Carry on and do your best”, when the fan is hit by s***.

Those lads that you depend on, and fund them on the cheap,
You treat ‘em all like s*** and bugger the mission creep;
Don’t worry that they live in slums, and will do yet for years,
Why should we treat ‘em any different, why care about their fears,

Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy 'ow's yer life?"
Well life is crap he says, according to the wife-
Life is crap he says, she’s gone home to mum, I’ve said goodbye t’wife ,
O life it's crap he says, when JPA fucks up your life.

No one likes us, what do you care, when we’re back in camp,
Trying to * your daughters, drinking, and swinging on a lamp;
But we save your arrse so many times, and do your dirty deeds,
But all you do is cut the money, and it’s our family that bleeds:

While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy plug that dyke,"
But it's "Please to fill those sandbags, sir," when there's flooding and the like-
And fight those fires, my boys, you cannot go on strike,
Do some other fuckers dirty work, covered in the dung and shite,
When foot and mouth, or other mess becomes the country’s plight.

You talk of cuts, reorganisations, savings and the like;
But it’s getting to the point where we’ll all be on our bike.
Sort out the quarters and the compensation, and prove it to our face,
Give us our own hospital, your treatment of our wounded is an absolute disgrace.

For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "the best little Army that there be!"
But the Covenant is nearly busted; Labour’s done that to us don’t you see?
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' platitudes to appease;
But Tommy, he ain’t blind - you bet that Tommy sees!

The author is a poster on Arrse, "Minnesota_Viking" and can be found here.

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