The coffee that they give you,

they say is mighty fine,

It’s good for cuts and bruises

and tastes like iodine.

 

Chorus:

O, I don’t want no more of Army life,

Gee, but I want to go home.

 

The biscuits that they give you,
they say are mighty fine;
One rolled off a table,
and it killed a pal of mine.
Chorus

 

The chickens that they give you,
they say are mighty fine;
One rolled off a table,
and it started marking time.
Chorus

The details that they give us,
they say are mighty fine,
The garbage that we pick up,
they feed us all the time.
Chorus 

The clothes that they give you,
they say are mighty fine,
But me and my buddy
 can both fit into mine.
Chorus

 

The girls in the PX,
they say are mighty fine,
But most are over ninety
and the rest are under nine,
Chorus 

They treat us all like monkeys
and make us stand in line;
They give you fifty dollars,
and take back forty-nine.
Chorus

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord;
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword:
His truth is marching on.

    Chorus:
    Glory, glory, hallelujah!
    Glory, glory, hallelujah!
    Glory, glory, hallelujah!
    His truth is marching on.

I have seen Him in the watchfires of a hundred circling camps,
They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;
I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps:
His day is marching on.
Chorus

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me.
As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
While God is marching on.
Chorus