“Perhaps twenty died from sickness,
    Victims of the fever’s rage,
  Or amoebic dysentery,
    All the rest,—­from ripe old age! 
  I’m the last of all those thousands,
    Through this place I still must roam,
  Waiting for expected orders—­
    Welcome orders to go home.”

WITH PERSHING IN MEXICO

  When I’ve served out this enlistment,
  And my time in the Reserves,
  Why, I am going to treat yours truly
  To the treat that he deserves. 
  For I am tired chasing Villa,
  In this God-forsaken land,
  When there’s nothing much but cactus
  And the useless miles of sand.

  Where the Rio Grande is flowing,
  By El Paso near Fort Bliss,
  There’s a little girl worth knowin’,
  And she’s a’savin’ me a kiss. 
  Oh, I met her once a’walking,
  With red corals in her hair;

  Where the greasers sit a’talking,
  In the little public square. 
  There’s real food there; white women;
  Most things a man could want;
  And a pool to go in swimmin’
  And a Chinese restaurant;
  Where, across the hot Chop Suey;
  If you give the Chink a wink,
  He’ll produce a little teapot,
  Full of something good to drink.

  Oh, I’m tired of Cactus whiskey,
  That they stop the trucks to sell;
  For one bottle’s mighty risky,
  And two starts a man for hell. 
  And the first time that I’m able,
  When they hand me my discharge,
  Watch me lean across the table,
  And say:  “Bo, give me a drink of ‘large.’”

  So good-bye, Adobe ladies;
  My regards to Uncle Sam;
  Let old Pancho go to Hades;
  Adios to Col.  Dublan! 
  They can’t bind me with a lasso,
  Once this little Doughboy’s free;
  There’s a girl right in El Paso,
  That I’m bound he’s going to see.

  For she’s waitin’, my Anita;
  In the Plaza, in the Square;
  Where the little fenced-in fountain
  Throws its water in the air;
  Where the old pet alligator stays,
  And winks his knowin’ eye,
  And says, “Patience, Senorita,”
  He’ll be with you by an’ by.

OLD BALDY

  The “Black Eagle” said, “I think it but fair,
  That I should be ruler of both land and air,
  And have all the other birds under my reign. 
  How great I shall be over such a domain.”

  The others protested, saying, “This you can’t do;
  We’ll never submit to a swell-head like you. 
  Before we’ll come under your despotic rod,
  We’ll fight to the very last drop of our blood.”

  But the “Black Eagle” answered:  “I’ll have what I wish;
  I’ll pay you for suckers, and catch a big fish;
  I’ll clip your wings off with a big pair of shears
  That I have been grinding, the last forty years.

  “I’ll hook my big talons right into your breast,
  And get a wild ‘Turkey’ to help do the rest. 
  We’ll pluck that fine plumage all off from your back;
  And you’ll find desolation the brand of my track.”