DANNY DEEVER BALLAD

  “Where’re all the soldiers goin’ to?” asked Files-on-Parade,
  “What are they all a-goin’ to do?” the Color Sergeant said;
  “I dunno where they’re goin’ to,” said Files-on-Parade,
  “I dunno what they’re goin’ to do,” the Color Sergeant said. 
  For they’re goin’ back towards U. S. A. and leave the Philippines,
  They’re tirin’ of the Islands and the Army “pork and beans,”
  That “single time,” and “two per mile”—­they all know what that means—­
  So now they’re all a’goin’ to leave the Army.

  “Where is the ‘Doughboy’ goin’ to?” asked Files-on-Parade,
  “And what is he a-goin’ to do?” the Color Sergeant said;
  “Back to his farm!  Back to his farm!” said Files-on-Parade,
  “Behind the plow!  Behind the plow,” the Color Sergeant said. 
  No hiking o’er rice paddies,—­but furrowed fields of corn,
  To go to bed real early and get up in the morn’,
  To be his own “K.  O.” once more, in the country where he’s born,
  So soon he’ll be a-quittin’ of the Army.

  “Where is the Trooper goin’ to?” asked Files-on-Parade,
  “And what is he a-goin’ to do?” the Color Sergeant said;
  “Perhaps he’ll pack an Army mule,” said Files-on-Parade,
  “Or go out West to ‘cow-boy,’” the Color Sergeant said. 
  He’s fond of his “caballo,” and he loves his old “outfit,”
  And if they’d change those Army bills, he wouldn’t ever quit,
  But Chairman Hay, and others, have forced him into it. 
  So soon he’ll be discharged from out the Army.

  “Where is the ‘Gunner’ goin’ to?” asked Files-on-Parade,
  “And what is he a-goin’ to do?” the Color Sergeant said;
  “He’s goin’ to be a ‘jackie,’” said Files-on-Parade,
  “A sailor lad a’fore the mast,” the Color Sergeant said. 
  For he’d rather try the Navy, and draw a sailor’s pay,
  Than “single-time” in Jolo with three long years to stay,
  Where there ain’t no “two-cent mileage,” while a’cruisin’ across the Bay,
  So now he’ll soon be quittin’ of the Army.

  “Where is the Army goin’ to?” said Files-on-Parade,
  “And what is it a’goin’ to do?” the Color Sergeant said;
  “The boys will soon have done their time,” said Files-on-Parade,
  “And few of ’em will ‘hitch’ again,” the Color Sergeant said. 
  For the Transports bring one “rookie” to take the place of ten,
  “Old Timers,” who are goin’ home, and won’t “hitch” up again,
  And they’ll have a Rookie Army—­instead of Soldier Men. 
  For they’re breakin’ up the Army in the Islands.

PUZZY LAPPINS

  When a crude and hopeful rookie
  To the Philippines I came
  To hike the glorious pathway
  On to shoulder straps and fame,
  I thought of mother’s counsel,
  And I scorned the drunkard’s cup,
  But I landed on the sick report,
  And that’s what did me up.