Boot Camp Blues – A Poem

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Oh, drill sergeant, hear my plea,

Basic training’s not for me.

Too many people invading my space,

I wish they’d all get off my case

Telling us how to march in place,

Turn the wrong way is a big disgrace,

Shine your boots and don’t be late,

Always remember to stand tall,

Answer quickly in roll call,

Salute the captain or take your fate.

Marching, running here, there and everywhere,

Makes me really sick of all this “fresh” air.

But as we march, we’ve picked up a new tune,

Which helps us forget it’s only noon:

“Here we go again, same old *** again,

Running down the avenue,

a few more miles and we’ll be through,

I’ll be glad and so will you.”

When night arrives, don’t sleep too deep,

Listen carefully for running feet,

For a blanket party sounds like fun,

but when it starts you better run.

Hurry up and wait, they say

Inspections later on today.

Make your bunk so it can flip a dime,

A speck of dirt becomes a crime.

Clean the barracks,

and no wisecracks,

or more push-ups you’ll do for me,

run three more miles and do KP.

Is this the life I want for me?

Through basic training we’ve really grown,

Already feel we’ve been through the war zone,

We’ve learned to pull together as a team

even when we wanted to scream.

We’ve learned how and when to salute,

how to clean our rifle and how to shoot.

When graduation day arrives,

much to everyone’s surprise,

Our platoon is filled with pride,

and glad Drill Sergeant has been our guide.

At last the day has come to hurry off on leave

to different places and things to achieve,

As we turn, we see brand new recruits

just learning how and when to salute,

We hear them say, with great dismay,

“Oh, Drill Sergeant, hear my plea,

basic training’s not for me!”

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