Tommy the Soldier

Clearly we've come a long way in our respect and honor of our soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines, but we're also a bit lacking in our appreciation of them as well. Why are the salaries so pathetic that a corporal with two children qualifies for food stamps? Why are the retirement benefits being squeezed so much that it is detrimental to dedicate twenty or thirty years of your life to the service of one's country? Why are people who are disabled from combat or retired with a medical discharge being granted such pathetic monies for their sacrifice?

It is because of these questions I have that the poem that follows is in fact my favorite poem:

Tommy
By Rudyard Kipling

I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer
The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:
O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away"
But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play
O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play.

I went into a theatre as sober as could be
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me!
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! They’ll shove me in the stalls!
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside"
But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide
The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide
O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.

Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap!
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.
Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"
But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll
O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.

We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind"
But it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind
O it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind.

You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"
But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please
An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool -- you bet that Tommy sees!