We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
More accurately from the German, "earworm." Anyway, the Quartermaster's Song was a WW1 Brit marching song which became a Brit Scouting campfire song, and later a US Scouting and ordinary campfire song. Also, a good car song. All with varied lyrics.
I have no doubt that the WW1 versions were bawdy. I heard "There was Hank, Hank, givin' himself a wank in the store...". The magic of a tune like this is that you just make up all the verses you can think of to keep it going.
The silly refrain about "My eyes are dim, I cannot see.." is great, but here are some of my favorite lines:
There was tea, tea, but none for you and me in the stores...
There were snakes, snakes, big as garden rakes in the stores...
There are eggs, eggs, eggs with hairy legs in the stores...
There is gravy gravy, enough to float the Navy in the stores...
There are rats, rats, big as bleedin' cats in the stores...
There are rats, rats, with bowler hats and spats...
My grandson who played football in high school asked me what position did you play papajoe and I replied saxophone and we rode to out of town games with girls on our buses. We sang about gin, gin, gin that makes you wanna sin, in the halls, in the halls, as well as cold roast duck, and whisky that makes you frisky and on and on for miles and miles in the late 50's and early 60's. Meanwhile the chaperone moms in the front of the bus pretended they were deaf.
Beer, beer, beer that makes you want to cheer
On the farm, on the farm
Oh it’s beer.......
.....on the Leland Stanford Junior farm. Etc. ad infinitum