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Five Thousand
by
John W. `Ramp´ Bowen
(Fepow - Shashuipo POW Camp, Hong Kong)
On the square, off the square
Criss cross and round the square,
Enough to make a Parson swear,
Marched the Five Thousand.
Oh! what a charge they made, Like a Walt Disney cavalcade,
Some with little stools they´d made,
To sit on and ponder.Strains of Martial Music ring,
Nobody is asked to sing,
The Nips won´t let them play “The King”
But Chiang Kai Shek is at Fanling,
To help the Five Thousand.
Little Nips to the left of them,
George and Boon to the right of them,
Formed up and numbered,
But someone had blundered,
Old George had missed Two Hundred.
Not for them to shoot the crap,
Just for them to take the rap,
The Nips won this little scrap,
Three cheers for johnny Jap,
Three more for Hitler.
No more anti-Nippon pranks,
No more talking in the ranks,
Where are those Bloody Yanks,
Cried the Five Thousand.
No boots, No socks,
Ambling round on wooden blocks,
Little towels to hide their C....
On ten onces a day approx.
No fags, No beer,
Beri Beri, Diarrhoea,
Sore throat, Pyorrhoea,
You can catch anything here,
Good old Five Thousand.
No more Bars or Dancing Halls,
No more pictures on the walls,
No more skin Left on their balls,
Who shall excel them?
Watching, waiting for supplies,
George has promised a surprise,
Lord, how that Bastard lies,
Where´s the Blue Wagon.
Grassett´s near with tons of fags,
NAAFI Cakes done up in bags,
And all the lovely Wachai Hags,
To cheer the Five Thousand.
No more early morning teas,
Plenty of Obscenities,
No more Amenities,
No fags or parcels,
We´re in a lousy plight,
We´re not allowed to fight,
Can´t sleep outside at night,
Aren´t we happy.
In a bed with fifty others,
Dreams of pies made just like Mother´s,
One man farts and nearly smothers
The rest of the Five Thousand.
Branded with the mark of Cain,
Carrying the can again,
Always P..... down with rain,
Spoiling all the fag-ends.
Bravely fighting Chinese lice,
Hong Kong rats and Kowloon mice,
Eating rat shit in our rice,
Gallant Five Thousand.
Where-oh-where is Churchill´s Blitz,
This ain´t no bloody Ritz,
Fall out the Men with Shits,
Who pinched the Flour?
Not for them to act the goat,
Theirs to answer the Bugle´s Note,
Every man with Smokers Throat,
Roll on that bloody boat,
Or there won´t be Five Thousand.
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