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The Greasy Gunner

It's well that I remember -
I enlisted, on the spree,
To be a greasy gunner
In the Royal Artillery.
My heart is aching and a-breaking
To be back in civvy street once more.
You ought to see the gunners
On a Friday night
Polishing up their harness in the pale moonlight
For there's going to be inspection in the morning,
And the Battery Sarnt Major will be there.
He'll be there; he'll be there;
The great black bounding beggar,
He'll be there;
While we're queueing up for water
He'll be kissing the Colonel's daughter,
In the little harness room
Across the square.

This is a fragment of a song.