There once was a sadsack named Sorrow,
whose clothes were soiled one morrow.
'A tailor,' said he,
'Would charge a high fee!'
So Shartug's messy pants did borrow!

Oh, Sorrow's just one foul old fella,
y'can smell'im from here, I can tell ya!
This war isn't hell,
it's just his rank old smell!
It's sad, his non-bathing can kill ya!

So now, we sit through this 'ere war,
an' wonder jus' what we're fightin' for.
Does it matter so much
if we keep the cold touch
of death far 'way from our door?

Hold 'em back with what you have,
be it steel and brass!
For when we've done all, all's done but
to kick Sorrow in th' . . . um, head.

Ah, to have been in Command,
and had an army post.
But of those who got one,
I still think I deserved most!
I showed th' tester my real might,
hundreds felled at my hands.
He didn't seem all that impressed,
told me to get outta Gob-lands.