The Song Of The A.S.C. (1918)
We never does no fighting,
Nor in trenches do wo stand;
But still we does a little,
To defend our native land.
We feed our gallant Tommies
If we don't you'll heat in roar,
And shout, and spit, and rave, and cuss
The Army Service Corps.
We never gets no medals,
"D.C.M.'s or big V.C.'s:
We never gets a minute's rest,
Nor sitting down at ease, "
If an ambulance is wanted,
And we're not to the fore,
There's prayers go up to heaven, for
The Armly Service Corps.
When the wind's a blowin' wildly,
And your horses act the goat,
And the rain conies down in torrents,
And you've got no overcoat
When your harness comes unfastened,
And you're feeling very sore,
'Tis then O God of Battles, help
The Army Service Corps.
If a lorry should want mendin',
Or a broken cattle truck,
If a load of goods want shiftin',
Or a stinking load of muck,
When the horses want their fodder,
And the gunners shells galore,
It's then they make inquiries for
The Army Service Corps.
Our Corps embraces tradesmen,
Wheelwrights, saddlers, farriers bakers,
Clerks and bloonin' shorthand writers
Cooks and tailors, and shoe-makers,
We've also got some drivers,
Whom the infantry ignore,
Although they draw their rations from
The Army Service Corps.
We never gets promotion,
We never draws big pay,
We're always thandering tired at
We works the whole long day,
But when the war is over,
And peace is here once more
P'r'aps they'll give a little credit to
The Army Service Corps.
Notes
From the Victorian newspaper the Wodonga and Towong Sentinel Friday 5 July 1918, p. 6.