(Parody of 'I'll Make A Man Of You’)
I don't want to be a soldier
I don't wanna go to war
I'd rather stay at home, around the streets to roam
And live on the earnings of a lady typist
I don't want a bayonet in my belly
Don't want my buttocks shot away
I'd rather stay in England
In merry, merry England
And bore the Captain's ruddy life away.

On Monday I touched on the ankle,
Tuesday I touched her on the knee....
Wednesday I had success,
She lifted up her dress,
Thursday, she touched me cor blimey,
Friday I had me hand upon it
Saturday she gave me balls a tweak,
And on Sunday after supper,
I rammed the fu**er up her,
And now I'm paying thirty bob a week, cor blimey

I don't want to joint the army,
I don't want to go to war...
I'd rather hang around Piccadilly Underground,
Living off the earnings of a high-born lady,
I don't want a bayonet up me arsole,
I don't want me bo**ocks shot away,
No! I'd rather live in England,
In merrie merrie England,
And fornicate me fu**ing life away, cor blimey....
Original words and music by Arthur Wimperis & Herman Finck - 1914
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