I Don't Want to Join The Army

I don’t want to join the Army,

I don’t want to go to war.

I’d rather hang around Piccadilly Underground,

Living off the earnings of a high-class lady.

I don’t want a bayonet up my arsehole,

I don’t want my bollocks shot away,

I’d rather be in Bisley. In sunny, sunny Bisley

And fornicate my fucking life away.

On Monday I touched her on the ankle.

On Tuesday I touched her on the knee.

On Wednesday, I confess, I lifted up her dress.

On Thursday I saw it, cor-blimey!

On Friday I put my hand upon it.

On Saturday she gave my balls a squeeze.

On Sunday, after supper, I rammed the fucker up her.

And now I’m paying seven and six a week.