I Don't Want To Be A Soldier

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I DON'T WANT TO BE A SOLDIER I don't want to be a soldier I don't want to go to war. I would rather hang around Piccadilly's underground And live upon the earnings of a high born lady. I don't want a bullet up me arse hole, Nor want me bloomin' buttocks shot away. No, I'd rather stay in England, jolly, jolly England, And fornicate me bloomin' life away, Gor blimey!

I DON’T WANT TO BE A SOLDIER 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, cor blimey! 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 fucker 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 bollocks shot away, No! I'd rather live in England, In merrie merrie England, And fornicate me fucking life away, cor blimey!