The Habit
I sometimes gets sick of the navy,
Of bein' a commonplace gob,
For life ain't no song when ye're workin' along--
With bos'n's mates bossin' the job;
This scrubbin' the decks ain't no picnic,
With holystone drill, now an' then;
Yet when my time's through what I'll probably do
Is--go an' ship over again,
Poor simp,
Just go an' ship over again.
Our gunnery drill is hard labor,
An' keepin' yer uniform white
In grease an' in smoke
is no Sunday-school joke,
An' as for the coalin' -- good night!
I gets sort of sick of salutin'
These bloomin' one-stripers, but then
I s'pose there's no doubt when my 'listment runs out,
I'll go an' ship over again,
That's me,
A mutt who ships over again.
I often gets hungry with thinkin'
Of beds you can sleep in with ease,
Not havin' to climb to yer rest every time
Like a guy on a circus trapeze.
I dreams about chairs you can sit in
As long as you want to; an' when
I'm done with my bit I am swearin' to quit
But I'm afaraid I'll ship over again,
Oh, yes,
I'm sure to ship over again.
Civilians is round with the women
(An' pretty ones, too) all the year;
With me it's "hello!" then "Good-by!" an' I blow,
Though maybe the girl sheds a tear.
I'm off to the North or the tropics
For six months or seven or ten;
An' when I return, why, she's married, I learn,
An'--I go an' ship over again;
Sure thing,
I'm sore, an' ship over again.
For somehow the navy has got me,
With travel an' strange furrin' scenes;
An' though I gets sore at its drills by the score,
An' sick of the mess with its beans,
There's something down deep in me whispers:
"You're one of old Uncle Sam's men,
And when the time's came you'll be signin' your name
To go and shop over again,
That's it,
You'll go and ship over again!"
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