I Don't Want To Join The Army

 

I don't want to join the army,
I don't want to go to war.
I'd rather hang around Piccadilly Underground,
Living on the earnings of a high born lady.
I don't want a bayonet up me a***hole,
I don't want me bollocks shot away.
I'd rather stay in England, in merry, merry England,
And fornicate me f***ing life away. Go blimey ...


On Monday I touched her on the ankle,
On Tuesday I touched her on the knee

On Wednesday, I must confess, I lifted up her dress,
On Thursday oh 'cor blimey
Friday I laid me 'and upon it,
Saturday she gave me balls a tweak
And Sunday after supper, I rammed me f***er up 'er,
And now I'm paying 30 bob a week

 

I don't want to join the Navy.
I don't want to go to sea.
I'd rather hang around Piccadilly Underground,
Living on the earnings of a high born lady.
I don't need no Frenchy women,
London's full of girls I never had.
I want to stay in Blighty, Lord Gawd Almighty,
Following in the footsteps of me dad.