A Chant Of Army Cooks Poem by Anonymous British

We never were made to be seen on parade
When sweethearts and such line the streets;
When the band starts to blare, look for us we ain't there-
We're mussing around with the eats.
It's fun to step out to the echoing shout
Of a crowd that forgets how you're fed,
While we're soiling our duds hacking eyes out of spuds-
You know what Napoleon said.

When the mess sergeant's gay, you can bet hell's to pay
For the boys who are standing in line;
When the boys get a square, then the sergeant is there
With your death warrant ready to sign.
If you're long on the grub, then you're damned for a dub,
If you're short, you're a miser instead,
But, however you feel, you must get the next meal-
You know what Napoleon said.

You think it's a cinch when you come to the clinch
For the man who is grinding the meat;
In the heat of the fight, why the cook's out of sight
With plenty of room to retreat
But a plump of a shell in a kitchen is hell
When the roof scatters over your head,
And you crawl on your knees to pick up the K. P.'s-
You know what Napoleon said.

If the war ever ends, we'll go back to our friends-
In the army we've nary a one;
We'll list to the prattle of this or that battle,
And then, when the story is done,
We'll say, when they ask, 'Now what was your task,
And what is the glory you shed?'
'You see how they thrive- well, we kept 'em alive!
You know what Napoleon said.'