The Foreign Legion Poem by archie langford

I`ve served in the French Foreign Legion,
By god `twas all trouble and strife,
With a rifle that shoots and a big pair of boots
That hurt me feet when I ran for me life,
Mixed with the scallywags of Europe,
The wops and the frogs and the krauts
The Sweed and Norwegian they all join the legion
And a couple of yank down and outs.
But thank god I`m not like the others,
I`m a limey and limeys are best
My legs got a bow I`m pigeon fronted also,
And that`s why they called me Bow Chest.
You ask me why I join the legion
And so I will tell you I will,
I remember it fine, I wanted to join
The legion club up Staple Hill.
As is the norm I filled out me form,
And with my money I took it along,
Had a couple of beers ended up in Algiers,
And I knew that I`d signed something wrong,
At ninety in the shade we`d be standing on parade,
Or doing some foot slogging drill
And when that sergeant guy fixed me with beady eye,
I had no to take a beechams pill.
He was known as sergeant Blanc and in the heat he stank,
And in truth he really was a cruel swine,
He would give a chap a lash with the sharp end of his moustache,
Which he always kept soaked in cheap French wine.
I had many a tiff with toe rag and riff
And they all scared me stiff. that`s for sure,
But the man I feared most out side of the post,
Was the evil sheik Rancid Manure
One day in a bar with my good friend Shazar,
When in walked this lovely young miss,
I bought her a drink then a nod then a wink
Then up stairs for a cuddle and a kiss.
When I came down my friend`s face wore a frown,
He said, “You `ave `ad eet monsewer,
For in zee room up above you are making zee love
To zee dautair of Ranceed Manure,
Even as he spake in rushed the sheik,
And I must admit so did my knees,
And with his face close to mine, he said; “ I have you you swine,

I vill carve you like zee big piece of cheese”.
When I saw his knife, I feared for me life,
But I responded like any true Brit,
Like a bullet from a gun I started to run,
Shouting, “ I`m going out for a smoke”.
To cut this story short I made for the nearest port,
I found a ship that was bound for Blighty`a shore.
And though I was extremely tough, I`d really had enough.
And I wasn`t prepared to take one minute more.
So I said farewell to the shot and the shell,
Farewell to the suns torrid glare,
Farewell to the flies that fill the desert skies,
Farewell from a brave legionnaire..