Hunger
He yelled he was hungry
As he crashed through the door
Stood there yelling and swaying
On the billet room floor
He demanded satisfaction
But as no one wanted to fight
He crashed back through the door
And out into the night
He’d said he was hungry
Said he needed to eat
He must have had a need
For a taste of raw meat
We saw him next morning
A penitent sort of thief
Returning to the cook house
With a side of frozen beef
He never got charged
For everybody swore
He’d found it that morning
Outside our billet door
An unsolved crime
Which cost him dear
With so many kleines
Of cool Pilsner beer
For a squaddie is a squaddie
The creed never heard
You never ever drop a fellow
Into the deepest merde
For a Rupert is a Rupert
And it always will be so
And sometimes there are things
No Rupert needs to know
Copyright © Terry Ireland | Year Posted 2022
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