With a horde of men I drive a jeep;
With a mob of chaps I try to sleep;
An army accompanies me to mess;
A platoon's around me when I dress;
With a battalion I drill all day;
With a company I eat and play;
Men to left and men to right;
Men around me day and night;
The Army — I can take it, see,
But the thing that murders me,
The irony that stabs my bones.
Is this: they call me PRIVATE Jones!