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COMPLAINT OF OUR PRIVATE SOLDIERS
Tune—“We are but little children weak”
WE are but little Seaforths weak,
Our pay is seven bob a week.
Whate’er we do by night or day,
It makes no difference to our pay.
Our pay is seven bob a week.
Whate’er we do by night or day,
It makes no difference to our pay.
Our hours a day are twenty-four,
We thank the Lord there are no more,
For if there were, we know that we
Would work another two or three.
We thank the Lord there are no more,
For if there were, we know that we
Would work another two or three.
There is one thing we do believe,
That we’re entitled to some leave;
We know not why we are so cursed,
We’ll get our old-age pensions first.
That we’re entitled to some leave;
We know not why we are so cursed,
We’ll get our old-age pensions first.
I am indebted for this lyric to the privates of No. 16 Platoon of my Battalion. I don’t know how many survive of the composers, but I record my thanks to them here.
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