Supper Time

Oh the army looked after its own It really must be said Except the RSM didn’t really Tuck the squaddies up in bed. Three square meals a day You could eat your fill They did try to keep you fit Just in case you had to kill And they opened up the cook house Every single night for toast and tea I sometimes went if broke After all everything was free. They had the largest toaster in the world At least the largest one I had ever seen As I was young and not well travelled It very well just may not have been, Where you would cook your toast Accompanied by the pop pop pop Of those kamikaze cockroaches That tried to run across its top. There were heaps and piles and scatters Scorched and charred by the score No matter how many failed There were always plenty more. We’d sweep the toaster top Brush them on the floor But just seconds later There’d be plenty more. We’d find them in the soup We’d find them in the custard Like an invading force Permanently mustered. Sometimes we probably ate them, They probably added to the taste When we rushing back on shift And eating in a haste. We feared the consequences more Of parading for work late Than any minor adulteration to The food that we all ate. When man is gone For what its worth Maybe the cockroach will Inherit this earth. Oh the army looked after its own It really must be said Except the RSM didn’t really Tuck the squaddies up in bed