So here we are, the lads, now men -
Old Boys at 3 score years and 10.
Bits of us gone - who knows where?
Backs, knees, hips - hair.
And though we each know each as brother
none can recognise
Leading Boys reduced to flab;
Corporal Boys - weak-eyed and drab;
Sergeant Boys - no can't do this -
he's still too big to take the piss.
All, all, were once great warriors,
now reduced to mild grey worriors.
They who once stood proud and smart
now flop in armchairs, fall apart.
Hearts that once were strong and pert
now need a pacemaker to work.
And though we were the boys in blue,
men of a Royal Air Force crew,
more flying time up there
with Easyjet and Ryanair
A number - 1475 -
keeps stirring, somewhere deep inside,
and Mr. Murray and Mr. Morse,
those gentlemen have gone of course.
The workshops are gone, and so is Ed,
and sports not played but watched instead,
no more can we take Brens apart,
or shoulder arms without a fart,
No more does Sergeant Whatsay cry
"This bog looks like a shithouse, boy!"
No more bulling, no more raids,
no more Sunday Church Parades,
no more hiding in our lockers -
only viagra and beta-blockers,
Yet here we are, still good freinds, all -
true, some of us gone, gone to the wall,
but that strong Boy Entrant bond,
us even from beyond.
The Blood-and-Custard Boys are we,
no teeth, but fierce as we could be !
29th Tels, we march the land,
timed to our old piper's band
And when we hear death's final gong,
we shall go out to this
When the red, red robin
goes bob-bob-bobbing along, along
there'll be no more sobbin'
when he starts throbbin'
his old, sweet song -
wake up, wake up you sleepy head
get up, get
out of bed ......