I DON'T WANT TO JOIN THE ARMY
Melody--Itself

I don't want to join the army,
I don't want to go to war,
I'd rather hang around Picadilly Underground,
Living off the earnings of a high born lady.
I don't want a bullet up me arsehole,
Don't want me buttocks shot away,
I want to stay in England,
Jolly, jolly England,
And fornicate me bloomin' life away, gor blimey . . .

Monday I touched her on the ankle,
Tuesday I touched her on the knee,
On Wednesday, I confess, I lifted up her dress,
Thursday I saw you-know-what,
Friday I put me hand upon it,
Saturday she gave me balls a tweak (Tweak! Tweak!)
And Sunday after supper, I put the old boy up 'er,
And now she earns me forty bob a week, gor blimey.

Chorus:  Call out the Regimental Army,
Call out the Navy and Marines,
Call out me mother,
Me sister and me brother,
But for God's sake,
Don't call me, gor blimey.

I don't want to join the Navy,
I don't want to go to sea,
I just want to go down to old Soho,
Tickling all the girlies in the umtiddly-um-pum,
I don't want a bayonet up me arsehole,
I don't want me knackers shot away,
I'd rather live in England,
Merry, merry England,
And fornicate me fuckin' life away.