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"THE CAMP PESSIMIST"

I •—adapted from Ben King's "The Pessimist" — by Neil Sims, 4A 2
Nothing to do but drill,
Nothing to eat but scraps,
Nothing to wear but c-umpled clothes,
Nothing to roll but flaps.
Nothing to wash but hands,
No time to wake up and yawn
When we hear our famous band
Calling parade at dawn.
Nothing to comb but hair,
Nowhere to sleep but on hay,
Nothing to sing but songs,
Nothing but marching all day.
Nothing to do at night
Except to clean our gear,
A lantern for a light
(Electricity's too dear).
Nowhere to go when sick,
Except to the R.A.P.,
Where an aspro does the trick
For even you and me.
Nothing to see but bush,
N.C.O.'s voices are hoarse.
Nowhere to have a bath,
But at the Obstacle Course.
Nothing to breathe but dust —
Slowly it disappears.
More work to do than ever was done
In a thousand million years.
Later, on returning home,
One sees a great contrast
Wondering where to roam,
"Where's last week?" you ask.

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