Backyard Army

Backyard Army When brooms become muskets, Mops sabers wild. When pots become helmets, It's fun for a child. Round Momma's roses, They march their brigade They trample her tulips, In a mad escapade. Thump, thump, thump, Goes the little toy drum. Oh hear the bugle, And the military hum. When the boys have grown taller, When we call them men. Will they dream of the battle, As they did then? When they marched round the roses. A glad little gang. With their little toy rifles, They yell Bang, bang.