The Recruit

Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:                     "Bedad, yer a bad un!                 Now turn out yer toes!             Yer belt is unhookit,             Yer cap is on crookit,             Ye may not be dhrunk,             But, be jabers, ye look it!                 Wan, two!                 Wan, two!     Ye monkey-faced divil, I'll jolly ye through!                 Wan, two!                 Time! Mark!     Ye march like the aigle in Cintheral Parrk!"     Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:             "A saint it ud sadden             To dhrill such a mug!             Eyes front! ye baboon, ye!             Chin up! ye gossoon, ye!             Ye've jaws like a goat,             Halt! ye leather-lipped loon, ye!                 Wan, two!                 Wan, two!     Ye whiskered orang-outang, I'll fix you!                 Wan, two!                 Time! Mark!     Ye've eyes like a bat! can ye see in the dark?"     Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:             "Yer figger wants padd'n',             Sure, man, ye've no shape!             Behind ye yer shoulders             Stick out like two boulders;             Yer shins is as thin             As a pair of pen-holders!                 Wan, two!                 Wan, two!     Yer belly belongs on yer back, ye Jew!                 Wan, two!                 Time! Mark!     I'm dhry as a dog, I can't shpake but I bark!"     Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:             "Me heart it ud gladden             To blacken your eye.             Ye're gettin' too bold, ye             Compel me to scold ye,             Tis halt! that I say,             Will ye heed what I told ye?                 Wan, two!                 Wan, two!     Be jabers, I'm dhryer than Brian Boru!                 Wan, two!                 Time! Mark!     What's wur-ruk for chickens is sport for the lark!"     Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:             "I'll not stay a gaddin',             Wid dagoes like you!             I'll travel no farther,             I'm dyin' for, wather;             Come on, if ye like,             Can ye loan me a quather?                 Ya-as, you,                 What, two?     And ye'll pay the potheen? Ye're a daisy! Whurroo!                 You'll do!                 Whist! Mark!     The Rigiment's flattered to own ye, me spark!"