Below is the raw OCR of Songs the Squadron Taught Me, July 4, 1943. If you would like to verify the text, please download the PDF of the photographed pages.
This songbook is probably from "Squadron A", a historic cavalry unit of New York City's Upper East Side, as it shares the same "squadron A" song as their 1930 songbook.
MM
Joly 4, 1943
SONGS
THE SQUADRON
TAUGHT ME
July 4, 1943
ONE-EYED RILEY
One night I was sitting by Riley's fire;
Drinking Riley's gin and water.
Suddenly a thought came to my mind;
Why not shag old Riley's daughter?
Chorus:
Tiddly-ay-ay, tiddly-ay ay.
Tiddly-ay-ay for one-eyed Riley;
Zit-boom-boom, balls and all.
Chiga-chig-a-chig, trea bon!
I hopped upstairs to the maiden's room*
Gently threw my left leg over;
What do yva think that maiden did?
hh# laughed bke bell till the fun was over!
TUdly-ayay cie.
Suddenly, a Mw ©ot»ide the door;
Who #euid It be tut her odd man?
Staffing there right m the hall.
With a tig horse’putol in hi» hand!
Tiddly-ay-ay «k,
| grabbed the old bastard by the neck*
Shoved that pistol up hi» a*a,
Stock hi» head in a pail of water;
Damn-eight further than I'd »bagged hit
daughter!
Tiddly-ay *ay »tf
I
TROOP C
A« Troop C goes riding by,
Ail the señorita» sigh,
A hundred trooper» knee to knee,
Pride of all the Cavalry,
As Troop B goes riding by.
In the camp or in the field,
There are none to whom we yield,
At the gallop, walk or trot,
We can show them all what’s what,
As Troop B goes riding by.
CAISSON SONG
Over hill, over dale, as we hit the dusty trail,
Hear those caissons go rolling along,
In and out, hear them shout
Countermarch and left about,
As those caissons go rolling along.
Then it's hi, hi, hee
For the held artillery,
Shout out your numbers loud and strong.
Where e'er you go
You will always know
That those caissons go rolling along.
ARTILLERY-------------------HALT!
THE GRINGO GRENADIERS
Of list to u*, we're tough young fellow*
We're the cavalry from New York*
You can tell we're army broken
'cause we eat the army pork;
We've come down to the border
To lend a willing hand,
And keep things all in order
Along the Rio Grande;
Our machine guns never Jam
And we do not give a damn,
We ride like the devil
On the slope or the level
And we fight for Uncle Sam;
And the girls, the little dears,
Are in love up to their ears,
They say “Hooray” for Squadron A
And the Gringo Grenadiers.
Our machine guns roar as we go to war,
And the infantry is awfully sore,
For they haven't got the punch of the Squadron Bunch,
And the Gringo Grenadiers.
HELLO SQUADRON A
Hello, hello, Squadron A,
We're going down to Mexico;
Things down there are in an awful mess,
And it's up to Uncle Sam I guess,
So pull on your breeches and your old jack hoots,
And bring along old betsy if yon’Te sure she shoots
Hurry, hurry, down this way,
Good old, good old, Squadron A.
5
UUW muni V/AxtnAiiAA
(Tun«: “Good Night Poor Harvard'*)
Good night, Carranza,
Carranza, good night;
We've got your number,
We're not too proud to fight;
For we have five hundred troopers,
AH roaring tight
When Squadron A gets after you,
Carranza, GOOD NIGHT1
GOOD-BYE-EE
Goo d-bye-ee
Dont' sigh-ce
Wipe the tear, Baby Dear, from your eye-ee
For it's hard to part I know,
Yet I'll be tickled to death to go
Don't cry-ee
Don't sigh-ee
For there's a silver lining in the sky-ee,
Bon soir, old thing, cheerio, ching ching,
Na poo, toodle-de-oo, good-bye-ee.
I WANT TO GO HOME
I want to go home,
I want to go home,
Machine guns may rattle and cannon may roar,
But I want to see dear old Broadway once more;
Take me over the sea
Where the Allemand can't get at me,
Oh, my, I don't want to die,
I want to go home.
6
JLIT IUU W AIN 1 1U h-CHUW tinIVEj 1HL
OFFICERS ARE
If you want to know where the o flic era «re
I know where they are,
I know where they are,
I know where they are:
If you want to know wnere the officers «re
I know where they are,
Down in the deep dug-out;
I saw them, I saw them,
Down in the deep dug-out 1 saw them,
Down in the deep dug-out.
If you want to know where the sergeants are
I know where they are—Etc.
A-lapping up the private’s rum
If you want to know where the corporals are
I know where they are—Etc.
Mending the broken wire
If you want to know where the privates are
I know where they are—Etc.
Up to their knees in mud
BESIDE A BELGIAN WATERFALL
Beside a Belgian waterfall
One bright midsummer’s day,
Beneath a shattered battle plane
A young observer lay;
His pilot hung from a telegraph pole,
He was not completely dead,
And he listened to the very last words
The young observer said.
O we’re going to a better land
Where everything is bright,
Where whiskey grows on bushes,
Play poker every night;
Where you never have to work at all,
Just sit around and sing—
There’ll be beaucoup wild women,
0 death where is thy sting
7
THE BASTARD KING OF ENGLAND
Attributed to Hud yard Kipling
The bard* they wing—of an English king,
Of many long yearn ago;
How ho ruled bin land—with an iron hand,
Though hi# mind wan weak and low.
Ho uned to hunt the royal ttiug within the royal wood,
But better far he loved to pull upon hi* royal pud.
Hie only nether garment was a dirty undershirt,
With which he tried to hide hie royal hide,
But he couldn't hide the dirt.
He was wild and woolly and full of fleas,
And his terrible tool hung down to his knees—
God save the queen of merry England.
Now the queen of Spain was an amourous dame, an
amourous dame was she,
And she loved to fool with the terrible tool of his
majesty over the sea.
So she sent a royal message by a royal messenger,
In which she asked the king to come and spend the
month of May with her.
When Phillip of France—he heard this news, he was
extremely wroth,
Oh she loves me royal rival—just because me horn is
short.
So he sent the Duke de Siphilis to give the queen a clap,
But the queen she didn't give a damn—cause she had
lots of that.
8
When now# of thl# font d«#d wa# nol#ed about in
Windsor'# hall#,
The king tie «wore by the #hirt he wore, that he'd have
the Frenchman'# ball#.
Bo he offered half hi# kingdom, and a crack at queen
Horten#«,
To any loyal Britisher who would knut the king of
France.
The noble duke of Su»sex betook hhn#elf to France,
Where he swore he wag a fruiterer—and the king let
down hi# pants.
Then round hi# dong he slipped a throng, and merrily
he galloped along,
And dragged him up before the throne of England.
Oh the king threw up his breakfast—he puked right
on the floor,
For during the ride the Frenchman's pride had
stretched a yard or more.
Ladies fair came flocking there—they stormed old
Windsor's door,
Then all the ladies of London town shouted—“To hell
with the British crown!”
The king of France now had his chance because he had
three feet more,
And Philip of France usurped the throne of England.
Yes Phillip of France usurped the throne, and his
scepter was the royal bone,
With which he crowned that bastard king of England.
9
THE LITTLE TIN PAIL
Oh th« little tin pail
It goes without fail
To the biggest saloon that is nigh;
It’s cheaper by far
Than nickel drinks are
For seven cents eight drinks will buy.
It’s not quite the dodge
At mansion or lodge
When thirsty for beer or for ale,
But we take in our hand
Our seven cents, and
In the other our little tin pail.
2
We lunch at our ease
On crackers and cheese
And swiftly the moments glide by,
Our tailors and debts
Don't bother us, let's
Be happy, the hours will fly.
The glasses go round
With a musical sound
All foaming with beer and with ale,
We never will stop
As long as a drop
Remains in that little tin pail.
3
Oh that little tin pail
Will land you in jail
If you let it go out on the street,
The country's gone dry
And until we all die
There's nothing to do but to eat,
It's not so much fun
As getting a bun
As we used to on beer or on ale.
Oh, what is the use
We've naught but grape j'uice
To put in our little tin pail.
IN THE CAVALRY
In the Cavalry,
In the Cavalry,
That’8 where I would be,
In the Cavalry,
In the Cavalry,
That’s the place lor me-e-e,
With a good old scout beside me,
I care not what betide me,
And I don’t give a damn
For any old man
Who is not in the Cavalry.
CAVALRY
(Tune: Tammany)
Cavalry, Cavalry,
Trot, trot; trot, trot;
Trot, trot, trot,
Trot, trot till your ass gets hot,
Cavalry, Cavalry,
Horseshit, horseshit, horseshit, borsesbit,
Cavalry.
FAR, FAR FROM WIPERS
Far, far from Wipers
I want to be,
Where Jerry’s snipers
Can’t snipe at me;
Deep is my dugout
Cold are my feet,
Waiting for wizz-bangs to rock me to sleep.
11
A CHILD’S HISTORY OF DIDDLING
A scene of glorious splendor discloses fire and flame
The nascent earth in nebule is forming for its name
The God of color works his will, the spectrum shades
are shown
From ruby red to cerulian blue and every opalescent hue
And diddling is unknown, yes, diddling is unknown.
The ages roll and the earth has cooled; ’tis swamp o’er
hill and dale
The creatures, hundred meters long, are looking round
for tail.
Thru forest, field and fen they flock, they know no man
nor gun
Two dynosauri romp in glee and the female cries “Come
diddling me”
And diddling has begun, yes, diddling has begun.
The monkeys and the spish men are moved with one
accord
The buxom neolithic bags must have their boxes bored
Aviril age of stalwart tools, they loved both night and
day
The women cried in voices shrill, “Oh faster, faster,
faster still”
And diddling held full sway, yes diddling held full
sway.
In Antioch the glorious, in Babylon that fell
In ancient Rome and Carthage too, they loved both long
and well,
Sin sated cities every one that joy led to their fall,
The earth throbbed gently through the night a rythmic
cadence of delight
And diddling killed them all, yes, diddling killed them
all.
But we have reached a higher plane and orgies passe
away
Our scheme of life’s so secret now, who diddles, m
may say
But diddling still continues, and will from all repoi
At night there comes the long drawn sighs all in1
mixed with passions cries,
It’s chief of all the sports, yes, it’s chief of all
sports.
So now at length I come unto the moral of my so
With things of joy prohibited we may not diddling
So my advice is sage sane and this is what I say
A little diddling now and then is relished by the 1
men,
So diddle while you may, yes diddle while you ro
THE FORESKIN FUSILIERS
Eyes right! Assholes tight!
Foreskins to the front!
We’re the boys who make no noise
We’re always chasing cunt.
We’re the heroes of the night
And we’d sooner fuck than fight
For we’re members of the Foreskin Fusiliers.
(Tune: Sailors’ Hornpipe)
Do your balls hang low
Can you swing them to and fro
Can you tie them in a knot
Can you tie them in a bow?
Can you throw them o’er your shoulder
Like a good old Yankee soldier?
Do your balls hang low? Mine do.
Do your balls hang low ?
Can you swing them to and fro ?
Can you tie them in a knot ?
Can you tie them in a bow?
Can you put them on the table ?
Can you tie them to your naval ?
Do your balls hang low? Mine do.
JERUSALEM
In days of yore there lived a ■whore,
A prostitute of ill repute,
Who fattened on the thriving trade
That harbored round Jerusalem.
Chorus:
Hi, hi, Jerusalem,
Jerusalem, Jerusalem,
Hi, hi, Jerusalem,
The harlot of Jerusalem.
And though of hair her box was bare
You couldn’t expect to find it there
For grass doesn’t grow on a thoroughfare
Like the harlot of Jerusalem.
Chorus: Hi, hi, Jerusalem, etc.
Next door there lived a fuckster bold
Who with his cock could knock them cold.
He fed her more than she could hold
That harlot of Jerusalem.
Chorus: Hi, hi, Jerusalem, etc.
He had a noble pair of balls;
They worked just like Niagara Falls;
The memory of them still enthralls
The harlots round Jerusalem.
Chorus: Hi, hi, Jerusalem, etc.
On days when he was out for fun
Squirting like a Bofors gun,
He sowed the seed for many a son
To romp around Jerusalem.
Chorus: Hi, hi, Jerusalem, etc.
He backed her up against a wall,
He screwed her till she couldn’t crawl,
He fed it to her balls and all
The harlot of Jerusalem.
Chorus: Hi, hi, Jerusalem, etc.
One day she found she couldn’t piss,
She said I’ve got the syphilis;
That puts an end to all of this
Cavorting round Jerusalem.
Chorus: Hi, hi, Jerusalem, etc.
(Note: Starting with the last line of the last stanza
the tempo is gradually retarded so that the
final “Jerusalem” of the final chorus is at an
“Amen” tempo.)
FASCINATING BITCH
Oh, I wish I -was a fascinating bitch,
I’d never be poor, I’d always be rich;
Outside my door I’d hang a red light,
I’d sleep all day and work all night.
And once a month I’d take a rest
Just to drive my customers wild;
Oh, I wish I was a fascinating bitch
Instead of a legitimate child.
(Tune: "Put on your old gray bonnet”}
Put on that old blue ointment
To the crabs’ disappointment
And we’ll drive those bastards away
Though it stings and it itches
Gee, it kills the sons-of-bitches
In the good old-fashioned way.
Put on your old gray bustle
Get your ass in a hustle
For you’ve got lots of work, to do
While the bees make honey
Let your ass make money—
If you can’t get ten take two.
THE HEDGEHOG
Recent experimentation
By Darwin, and Huxley and Have
Have shown that the ass of the hedgehog
Can scarcely be buggered at alL
Cborns:
Singing Tnrillee, nriHee, ad dee
Singing Tnrillee, nrillee, aye
SingTng’ Tnrillee, nrillee, addee
Singing- Tnrillee, nrillee, aye
Further experimentation
Has ineontrovertibly shown
That comparative safety at Harvard
Is enjoyed by the hedgehog- alone.
Chorus:
Now why don’t they do up at Harvard
The way that they do down at Yale?
They successfully bugger the hedgehog
By shaving the quills off his tail.
Chorus:
From the dawn of civilization
From anthropoid ape down to man
The palm is awarded to Princeton
Who has reproduced nature by hand.
Chorus:
Here’s to the bags of North Adams
And here’s to the Old Mohawk Trail,
And here’s to the maiden from Cambridge
Who gave me my first piece of tail.
Chorus:
And here's to the bags in New Haven,
And here's to the streets that we roam,
And here's to all dirty-faced urchins,
Who knows but they may be our own.
18
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